


In the Space of Seven Days

by seperis



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-10-07
Updated: 1999-10-06
Packaged: 2017-10-03 17:06:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 60,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seperis/pseuds/seperis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom takes control of Voyager in the worst possible circumstances, and the crew under him learns to compromise their ethics to find a way to save their ship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Alteration in Seating Arrangements

**Author's Note:**

> To the betas who worked so hard to make this right--Sorcha, Sara, Annie M., SY and Khameleon. If it works, it is only because of their unflagging efforts.
> 
> Further warnings at the end of the story.

**Day 4 0200 hours - Present Time**

The Big Chair, everyone assumed, was the most comfortable piece of furniture on board the Federation Starship Voyager. Maybe the whole mystique of the Big Chair was somehow wrapped up in that belief. Here, the Captain sat, giving her orders. Here, the central power of this ship, its soul, its determination, took on human form in the body of its Captain. It was well-cushioned leather, with comfortable-seeming armrests that fit the arms perfectly of whoever sat there in command, no matter who that was. The seat itself seemed to invite one to fall into its lush depths, surrounding a person with soft, warm comfort and absolute authority.

Tom Paris, the only member of the Senior Bridge crew left on Voyager, knew better.

The Chair might look soft, but as it enveloped, it suffocated, burdening one with the incredible weight of command. He'd never truly realized that before, and he was Starfleet, born and bred. Starships had been a second home to him for most of his life, and for the past almost five years, this one had truly _been _his home. Yet in that time, seeing countless captains, countless officers, he had never realized the true significance of the Big Chair.

Until his butt was firmly rested in it and perfectly aware that no one was going to get him out of it anytime soon. _What I wouldn't give for someone else to sit here. Anyone. How did the Captain stand it? Every day, she sat here, our mainstay, our guide, our muse, and in a chair that feels like it's trying to eat you alive._

He couldn't stand the silence of his own thoughts anymore. He tapped his comm badge.

"Paris to Sickbay."

:::Sickbay here. What can I do for you, Mr. Paris?:::

At least the Doc sounded as testy as ever. A constant in a world that quite literally made no sense to him, and hadn't for some time. For three days--_only three days? Three months, three years, three decades, rather_\--nothing had been right. And unless something gave, it never would again.

Tom didn't know why he called Doc. Maybe just to hear someone's voice. He looked at the viewscreen as if will alone would fix the wrongness, this quiet on a ship that was supposed to be bustling with life.

"You know, I have no idea. Paris out." He clicked the channel closed, let his hand fall back to the armrest limply.

And he stared at the false stars. Unable to imagine what the hell he was supposed to do, when nothing could be done. And that was the most damnable part. He had no idea what could be done that hadn't been already tried. _And failed._

:::Janeway to Voyager:::

Startled, he winced, stood up instantly, as if she had caught him doing something inappropriate. It almost made him smile. Wondered again what she was using to communicate with.

:::Janeway to Voyager. Tom, I know you can hear me.:::

He knew that too. He raised a hand to touch his comm badge, hesitated, then laced his fingers together behind him. He couldn't afford to break, not now. Not now, of all times.

:::Tom, _answer_ me. Surely we can talk about this.:::

_Sure we can. But what's the point? I know what you'll say and unless I vary my arguments it will be a repetition of the same scene we've played for the last few hours--there's nothing left to be said._

:::Tom, listen to me, I don't understand what is going on--:::

_Liar. You know even better than I do._

:::butbeam _me_ up to Voyager so we can talk, face to face. There must be something...:::

This was new. Not in the script. He touched his badge.

"You know I can't do that, Captain." He regretted his action as soon as the words were out of his mouth.

:::This is _mutiny_, Mr. Paris!::: Her husky voice had an acidic lash in it, meant to arouse his shame, his guilt, his feelings of betrayal.

That was new too, at least from her. But he heard that word echo in his head, every second, so it certainly wasn't unexpected. He had finally lived down Caldik Prime and the Maquis, something he had never believed possible. He had managed it by exceeding his own crimes, and in such a spectacular fashion. He looked again out the viewscreen, watching endless stars. Never in his life had he felt so hopelessly, utterly alone.

"I know."

* * *

**Day 3 2000 hours - six hours earlier**

"Vorik?" His voice was low, even though there was no one on the Bridge who would be a danger to them if they overheard. _Habit. Instinct. Old friends, welcome home._ A bitter thought.

Vorik, standing at stiff attention, nodded from his post by the engineering station. Tom, standing by the Big Chair, as yet unaware of its ominous properties, took a long, deep breath, trying to center himself, as a long-ago Betazoid girlfriend had taught him.

_It gets you in touch with yourself._

And it did, though not in the way she had meant it. Tom had long utilized that precious center to control himself, to practice the fine art of deception, to set his mind on a single goal and let nothing, not sentiment, not emotion, not circumstances, stop him from achieving it. It wasn't pretty, it wasn't at all romantic, and it was never meant to be used in such a way, (at least, that was what Kelara would have said) but Tom's post-Starfleet years had been spent on the streets, where his excellent Starfleet education meant crap. That centering technique...it came in handy. An emotional anesthetic, in a very real way. For as long as it took, he could forget feelings, forget ties to anyone and anything, and do what needed to be done.

Tom looked around the Beta shift crew, with whom he had volunteered to work today. Ensign Vorik, at engineering. Ensign Samantha Wildman, cross-training at Ops. Lieutenant Susan Nicoletti, at tactical, due to her cross-training with security. Ensign Pablo Baytart, his own second, at the helm. A full complement was on the Bridge, unusual during a routine orbit of a class M planet, as yet unnamed. Luckily, no one had bothered to notice that. Standing in the center of the ship, by that Chair, he took one last look around, trying to feel confident. _Carey, I hope you're there. _

Only one word was needed. His hand tightened on the chair beside him.

"Ready."

It happened fast. That was something.

Vorik signaled engineering (and incidentally Carey, who was supposedly off-ship) through his console. He was aware of Tom's prohibition on the use of the comm badge during this time. Carey, upon receiving the signal, would start his particular coup immediately to get the engines back online. Samantha quickly reprogrammed the ops station to emit false readings in case anyone should check to see how the engines were doing, then passed control to Susan at tactical and locked down her board. Sam then darted to the environmental console and loaded the virus program Tom had written that afternoon. Luckily, he was not only a good programmer, but he had B'Elanna's old Maquis virus code as a template to work with. He had barely been able to finish in time, with Vorik adding the final touches only hours before.

:::Authorization of Captain requi--::: The computer voice cut off, ending with a low humming. Samantha froze, watched the screen dance, and then blank. Tom watched the half-hysterical smile spread briefly across her strained face, a smile of unbelieving relief. He understood the feeling. So far, it was working. Environmental control was theirs.

"Environmental controls locked in, sir, set to go off in thirteen minutes," she told Paris in a shaky voice. Tom nodded shortly, and checked the chronometer.

"Three minutes." The countdown had begun.

"Yes, sir," said Baytart, setting the course Tom had given him earlier that day. Sue left tactical, taking Vorik's position at the engineering station as he finished loading the final, and most complicated, virus. Vorik then walked to the conference room doors with cool Vulcan aplomb, where the senior staff of Voyager, Captain Janeway, Commander Chakotay, Lieutenant Commander Tuvok, Lieutenant Torres, and Ensign Kim were meeting. Tom knew Neelix, Seven of Nine, and a member of his own department were also in there, and for once was glad Neelix and Seven participated in Senior Staff meetings so often. It made his job so much easier.

On the off-chance they came out, Vorik pulled his phaser out from where it was hiding in the recesses of his tunic. Tom took a deep breath, convincing himself again he was doing the right thing.

Six crewmen poured out of the turbolift, almost on cue, one throwing Tom a phaser rifle. He checked it quickly, assuring himself that Ayala and Henna had adjusted the settings to the specs he had given them, then tossed it to Vorik, and caught the second one Ensign Henna tossed his way, checking it, before hitting his comm badge.

"Paris to Carey." _Be there, Carey, be ready, we only have one chance..._

An eternal pause, broken by--

:::Carey here.::: Tom felt himself breathe normally again, until that moment unaware he had been holding his breath.

"Two minutes."

:::Aye, sir.:::

Funny, how they all kept calling him 'sir'.

Sue worked over the engineering console, then let out a short cry. Tom spun to face her, and she nodded quickly, a very slight smile spreading her lips as she entered the last set of pilfered codes. He nodded back, waving Henna and her crew into position by the conference room doors. Sue left the engineering station and took the other side of the door, opposite Vorik, and Baytart, after locking down navigation, sped about the Bridge locking down all other controls. No mistakes could be made now.

"Computer, recognize Ensign Thomas Eugene Paris." _My voice sounds so normal. That can't be right._

:::Recognized::: _The computer sounds perky. How disquieting._

"Transfer all command codes to Ensign Thomas Eugene Paris, authorization Alpha Alpha Tau Omicron 1 2 3."

A breathless moment, and Tom thought Samantha, frozen by environmental, might faint.

:::Authorization accepted. Transfer complete.:::

The entire group let their collective breaths out, and Tom checked the chronometer. Twenty seconds.

"Computer, transfer bridge control to Lieutenant Carey in Engineering." He looked at the door of the conference room. Then at his group, meeting each pair of determined, terrified eyes.

:::Transfer complete.:::_Don't they have just a little variety in acknowledgement?_

He watched Sam receive her phaser rifle from Larson and take her position behind Sue.

_Ten._

"On my mark." He set the rifle again, clicking the safety off, the snap audible in the desperately quiet room, then glanced at his shipmates.

_Nine._

:::Carey to Paris:::

Tom hit his comm badge with an unsteady hand.

"Paris here."

:::Ready, sir.:::

_Six._

"Hyposprays?" Tom asked sharply, and received quick nods from everyone.

_Three._

"Ready?"

Nods again, this time almost in unison. Tom gave them all a small smile, which some were actually able to return. Grimly. _Kind of like whistling past a graveyard._

One.

Tom hit his comm badge to signal shipwide, eyes fixed on the goal, the conference room door. All eyes turned to him for a brief moment, anticipating his next order.

"Now."

Vorik hit the controls on the conference room door and ducked in front of it, crouching, his rifle aimed at a very surprised looking Captain Janeway. Susan went in ahead of him at his short confirming nod, covering the left side of the room, and Sam ducked in behind her, taking the right. Tom drew a deep breath, raised his rifle, and heard Henna and her team flare out around him. He followed. Within three seconds they were all in the room, Vorik's rifle neatly placed against Captain Janeway's neck. A sight that Tom couldn't help finding amusing, in a gallows humor sort of way, contrasting the cool, utterly expressionless Vorik the Vulcan Terrorist to Captain Janeway's gaped-mouth, disbelieving shock.

Tom waited as the team each sighted someone, then spoke. He kept his voice low and cool. Calm. A laugh. He shook inside. _Is this real? Have we come to this? _

Then, he met his Captain's cold blue eyes.

"I suppose you weren't expecting us, Captain." His rifle was in a relaxed position against his shoulder, ready to be armed at the first sign of trouble. Considering the complete immobility of the staff, he found it doubtful.

Captain Janeway opened her mouth, closed it, then finally spoke.

"What is the meaning of this, Mr. Paris?" She choked the words out, her usual husky voice scratchy, as if she had been using it for purposes other than talking.

He glanced around the room, letting a slight smirk set over his features, knowing how much she hated it. Needing to remember that at this moment he was not the Captain's subordinate officer, that these officers weren't his friends anymore, this woman not his Captain, that in the space of twelve hours everything had changed._ This is unreal, in the most literal definition of the term. She isn't my captain, not anymore. _

"I would think that would be obvious."

"Computer--" she began, but the feel of the phaser-rifle against her windpipe cut her off. Vorik was turning into quite the little terrorist. Tom hadn't thought he had it in him.

No one else spoke. Maybe it was the phaser-rifles, but he doubted it. It was disbelief. They could not believe that he, Tom Paris, could do what he was doing. Would be able to do it. Mutiny. _Underestimating the enemy is always the worst mistake. I won't make it._

At his nod, Samantha and Ensign Henna began hypospraying the senior staff, while Ayala and the security team Henna had recruited kept their weapons trained on each of the officers, almost daring them to move. When Sam nodded shortly to Tom, bringing her weapon back up and pointing it in the general direction of an unnaturally still Harry, he spoke again, hoping his voice wouldn't betray him.

"I'm sorry." _You have no idea how much._

He hit his comm badge, glancing at Henna, who left the room to secure the Bridge, and set his communication for a ship-wide declaration.

"Report."

:::All secure in engineering, sir:::The most placid voice in the world. As if nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all. _Carey, I have no idea what I would have done without you._

:::Decks 1-5 clear, sir::: That was Ensign Megan Delaney, sounding shell-shocked. It was not every day that one took prisoner one's twin sister and one's lover. But he trusted her, knew she would pull through.

He listened to the rest of the reports, while Ensign Baytart removed the comm badges from the senior staff, placing them in a chair far from the silent officers. Tom hit his badge again.

"Paris to Transporter room."

:::Zephyr here. Ready sir.::: The feminine voice that answered him was shaky but clear and relatively calm. _Good job, Zephyr, you're holding up a lot better than I expected._

Tom let his eyes run quickly over the senior staff at the table, watching each pair of eyes that stared at him with such fury, betrayal. Neelix, jovial face a mask of anger. Seven and Tuvok, impassivity breached, pulsing with rage. Chakotay. Janeway. Finally, he looked at B'Elanna, who was standing very straight in her place, as she had since they had entered. Larson's phaser rifle near her ear, but no fear clouded her dark eyes. Only raw hatred. He knew it would hurt later. But nothing could hurt now, not the way Harry held one delicate hand in his, not the unhealed bite on Harry's face.

_Not now._

He took another breath. _Time. _He took out the extra hypospray, tossing it on the table, tacitly telling the others to do the same. The Senior Staff watched this little show with hypnotic intensity.

"Beam the occupants of this room with a solution of iron hydroxide directly to the planet's surface. On my mark." He listened for her acknowledgement, then looked at the Captain, at the hatred and anger that was completely foreign to the woman he would have followed to the ends of the universe. His mouth was dry.

"Energize."

* * *

**Day 4 0210 hours - Present Time**

"Mr. Paris? Tom?"

Tom spun around from his thoughts, phaser already out, to see the Doctor (one very startled Doctor at that, but he tried not to show it, quite aware of what Tom was going through) who was watching him with undisguised sympathy. He reholstered his weapon absently, began to sit in the Chair, shuddered, and returned to his old helm seat.

"What are you doing up here?" He tried not to sound defensive. _Besides the fact I called and you probably think I am losing my mind._

The Doctor shook his head.

"You should rest. Why are you here alone?"

Tom smiled a little.

"I sent non-essential bridge crew to clean up the mess. Some of the decks are--less than pristine, you know. Hiding in this nebula doesn't give us much to do, so I sent Baytart and Nicoletti off to eat, they should be back soon. I can certainly handle anything that might happen up here in their absence."

The Doctor could read between the lines. Tom had wanted to be alone for a while.

He took the First Officer's seat, studying the young man in front of him.

"I haven't talked to you since I was reactivated." He watched Tom carefully. He noticed Tom's slight wince. B'Elanna had been the one that almost destroyed his matrix.

Tom shook his head quickly, and a bitter laugh escaped before he could stuff it back in.

"No, Doc, thanks, but I definitely do _not_ want to talk about it."

"You might feel better."

"Mutineers aren't supposed to feel better, Doc." His voice was sharp, the words bitten off. "They're supposed to feel like hell for betraying their captain. And I do. But it isn't as bad as I thought. Not much real guilt. Just--a kind of numbness..." he trailed off, realizing what he had revealed. The Doctor, however, did not jump in. He had learned the fine art of patience. Instead, looked at the viewscreen, the false view of stars on black-velvet night.

"You didn't have a choice, I know. I am sorry, Tom."

Tom Paris laughed then, couldn't help it, and tried to stop, but six hours had been too long, and he couldn't find his center. He laughed until his eyes burned, until his throat closed over, until he couldn't breathe. He felt the Doc's hand touch his head, then begin to pat him on the back, a little awkwardly, but there it was, a definite pat. After a few seconds, a lifetime of discipline asserted itself, and Tom lifted his head, roughly wiping his face on the sleeve of his uniform jacket. With a sudden, violent movement, he pulled the jacket off, tossing it on the floor.

"Yeah." He watched the red and black settle stiffly to the floor, hypnotized. "I ran the internal sensors seven times. There are no more of them left."

"How many crew are still on board?"

"Sixty-five." At the Doctor's look of shock, Tom smiled a little. "Yeah, I know what you mean. Sixty-five can't run the ship."

The Doctor had to agree.

"I'm meeting with our new acting department heads tomorrow to discuss the situation. It's funny, when we were planning this, we didn't realize just how many people we were going to lose." His eyes went to the conference room doors. He hadn't been able to go in there since--_well, since._

"Such as Lieutenant Torres?" The Doctor's voice was gentle. Tom shivered, trying to avoid the intense pain her name brought him. The thought of her brought him.

"A lot of good people. The senior staff, Jenny Delaney, a lot of the crewmen, almost all of security. I guess that's not a surprise, considering who it was that beamed down to that planet first." He turned away, checking the readings at the helm, where he had transferred all major functions of the Bridge. More to keep his face from betraying him to the Doctor than because he thought there was anything to see.

The Doctor nodded slowly, getting up. He had no idea what to do. This situation was certainly not one the Doctor had ever been programmed to handle. For that matter, he doubted any Starfleet Doctor could have handled it any better. He would just sit back, watch, do what a doctor did, and hope it was enough.

Tom stared at the panel, watching the lights, until they became a single bright blur. His fingers drummed a discordant rhythm on the edge of the unit, putting the Doctor more on edge.

"I didn't think there was another way." His voice was low, hoarse, almost as if he was speaking to himself. Carefully, the Doctor eased himself back into the chair. He knew Tom, had worked with him for almost five years. Exasperating, frustrating, sometimes far too flighty in attitude to be considered a valuable officer. But the Doctor saw also something Tom did not overtly display. An intense loyalty to the Captain who had quite literally changed his life. A superior intelligence, even though it was almost completely focused on flying. An ability to set aside inconvenient emotions when they interfered with his professional duties. But more than these things--an absolute, unwavering determination to do the right thing that, once set free, could be neither denied or ignored. When the Doctor had been re-activated by Megan Delaney and briefed on the situation, it had not surprised him that Tom would lead a mutiny. Nor that he had gotten so many crew to follow him.

What surprised him was the cool, almost emotionless way he took the desertion of B'Elanna Torres. For like the Captain, B'Elanna had his loyalty. Yet he had been able to turn his back on them both, when he had to.

To save them all.

And the Doctor wondered what had happened.

* * *

**Day 3 1503 hours - eleven hours earlier**

"You each have a specific job to do. There will be no communication until three minutes before 2000 hours, when the countdown begins. According to Vorik's calculations, three minutes is as long as his virus will distract those on the planet and keep the Senior Staff from finding out what we are up to. We have to have control by that time."

"Question, sir?"

"Go ahead, Ensign Delaney."

"How will the transporter room know who to beam?"

"That is what the hyposprays are for. Each one of you will have at least three. When injected into a crewman who is infected, it will emit a radioactive signal. The transporter room will fix on anyone who gives off that signal and beam them to the surface. Got it? Ayala, you are in charge of procuring the weapons, I don't care how you do it. Here are the settings for them, and be exact, I have tested this frequency and it works on them. Ensign Henna, you will lead the team to the Bridge. Everyone know their assigned decks? Good. Use the modified tricorders, watch for the yellow light, that will tell you what you want to know. When in doubt, hypospray, it won't affect an uninfected crewman in the same way. At 2012, everyone outside the Bridge must retreat to the Mess Hall or engineering and lock yourselves in. It will be a tight fit. Carey, you know how to lock down both areas?"

"Yes, sir."

"We will gas all the decks. It will take ten minutes for the gas to disperse enough to allow safe exit. Ensign Henna, Lieutenant Ferris, Lieutenant Ayala, and Lieutenant Nicoletti will lead the sweeper teams to check every room in every deck. We cannot afford to miss even one infected person, do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, sir."

"Aye, sir."

"Vorik, can you check my program? Will it work?"

"Yes, sir. Crewman Stein and I will have two minutes to open the security files and get the command codes. I can finish the coding this afternoon."

"Are you sure you can you do it?" Impatient.

"Yes sir." Faintly offended.

"No one is to eat or drink anything until after this is complete. I am not risking the effects of some of the stuff brought from the planet, and it is possible hydroponics has been contaminated. Until we can do a sensor sweep, stay away from anything edible, it's apparently the way the contaminate is spread. Ensign Vorik and Lieutenant Carey will conduct a quick sweep of the Mess Hall and Engineering replicators after we are finished here, but try to avoid anything edible.

"You have your orders. Anything else? Good. You all know to be armed at all times, understood? Crewman Zephyr brought the harnesses you will use under your uniforms to hide your phasers. Let me check the settings before you go.

"All right. Dismissed."

* * *

**Day 4 0215 hours - Present Time**

"Sweeps are complete, sir."

Tom glanced up at Susan Nicoletti, who had the unenviable task of being his first officer. _First Officer. She looks as miserable as I am. I wonder if the First Officer's seat is as bad as mine?_ The expression of distaste she could not hide when she sat down told him it was. He took the PADD she offered, which held the new crew assignments, then the sweeper report.

All suspicious food had been taken to the Mess Hall under the auspices of Crewman Stein. Vorik and another crewman were busy scanning hydroponics. Internal sensors had found all the remaining contaminants, including food, liquor, and, oddly enough, a box of replicated fudge that had been a gift from Gerron to Megan after he had returned from the surface. Luckily, she had received it after witnessing her sister and Gerron engaged in--_Tom, just say it, they were having sex_-intimate relations, and had thrown it away immediately. So far, so good. The internal sensors, run by Doc, were regularly checking the remaining crew for a possible infected or contaminated crewmember, but nothing had come up.

"Has the Doctor found anything yet, sir?" Nicoletti looked a little pale, but oddly calm. _Probably shock. A lot has happened lately. _That thought made him smile again._ A lot indeed._

"He's working on it. It's not quite a virus, or a disease, or--well, anything. The Doctor will know soon, I hope." At her look of curiosity, he bit his tongue. He couldn't afford questions just yet. "I was right about the food, everything from the surface or deliberately contaminated by infected crewmen had a hallucinogen in it, with a little suggestibility thrown in for kicks. That explains why everyone was so hot to get down to the planet, all at once. From what I have been able to find out, the hallucinogen causes the person to want to get planetside. Infection with whatever is making our crew act--well, act unlike themselves--is separate." He was glad she didn't question his sudden knowledge. Maybe real Captains were omnipotent, but he was not one of them, relying on more concrete methods of discovery. He leaned into the Big Chair, trying to keep from sinking. At least, that was the impression he was getting from it. _Like the damn thing is trying to bury me._

"Can we be infected?" She sounded worried. Tom tried to be reassuring.

"Doc thinks not unless we beam down to the planet. I am more worried about someone being accidentally contaminated by the hallucinogen and trying to take us back. How are repairs?"

She checked the PADD in her hand. He noticed, almost as if for the first time, that her black hair was several different shades, sheening to midnight blue in some places, other spots sooty dark, currently all wearing an equal layer of dust and--_is that blood?_\--sweat. One strand hung in front of her ear, curling slightly against her cheek.

It brought back memories. They had been lovers for only a little while in their first years on Voyager, more of a casual once in a while situation, when they had time and opportunity. A higher level of distraction, and Tom had never been known to turn down a distraction that was as beautiful as Susan. In those early days, before B'Elanna, sex had still been his main source of relief from his problems.

One slender hand went up and pushed the strand back absently, and it fell forward again, brushing against her cheek, oddly familiar. Almost unconsciously, Tom reached out and pushed the strand into place behind her ear. His hand lingered. Susan glanced up, their eyes locking for a moment, then they both looked away. Hot color stained Susan's cheeks.

_Selfish. Unforgivably inappropriate. What the hell are you thinking?_

Tom didn't need to remember what he was thinking. What he was trying to forget. It was branded into his mind, the entire scene he had witnessed earlier that day. Then the conference room, where he had seen Harry's cheek. B'Elanna's hand in Harry's. The lovely brown eyes filled with hate.

_It hurts. But that isn't an excuse. I'm not just a pilot now, who can afford to bed anyone in sight to distract myself. I am de facto captain of a starship with my captain on a planet I trapped her on. I am the man who only a few hours ago vaporized all three of this planet's ships in orbit. I did beam the crews off first, but if that hadn't been possible I would've blown them up anyway. If our crew gets off that planet, if they really are contagious--_

Not thinking, refusing to think, of the only real reason. _B'Elanna._ That hurt too much.

"We have everything online, there really wasn't much to do once you authorized the computers to let us do something," she blurted out. For a reason unknown to any of them, Captain Janeway had set in new sets of command codes that had locked out many important functions of the ship from the general crew, even those whose usual duties required access to those functions. After an uncomfortable pause, Susan said thoughtfully, "I didn't know that a Captain could literally take over every function of a ship just via command codes."

Tom laughed.

"Impressive, I know. My father once told me about it, and fortunately I listened, or I would have had no idea how to get passed all those lock-outs." He handed the PADDs back, sighing. "Hopefully, the Doctor can find a way to uninfect our people. Once he figures out, of course, what's wrong with them." Sue glanced down at that, playing with her PADD absently.

Blue eyes darted back to him, he saw the speculation, the question she would not voice. Knew everyone wondered what had triggered his sudden action. Susan had been suspicious from the beginning, some of the others had noticed the oddness, but Tom had been a staunch supporter of the Captain until he had suddenly called the meeting in cargo bay one.

"You want to know what changed my mind?" His tone was weary resignation, one eyebrow lifting slightly.

"Well, sir--" she trailed off, flushed. He shook his head, glancing at the useless viewscreen. He hated looking at the swirl of gas around them, had put this more long-range view in to calm himself. Stars had always been his comfort. He was a pilot. They were where he belonged.

"We have time to kill, I don't see why not. Actually, you were there--"

* * *

**Day 3 1030 hours - sixteen hours earlier**

"How's the leola root casserole, Tom?"

Surprised, Tom looked up into the smiling face of Ensign Harry Kim. He hadn't seen him in some time _ever since he went down to the planet, actually, like most of the senior staff. _As he sat down, Tom tried to think of a response. Couldn't find one. After all, leola root was terrible, what need was there to say more on the subject?

"It's been a while," Tom offered, chewing. Neelix was still on the planet, so someone had been kind enough, or sadistic enough, it was a toss-up, to lay out the leftovers from--well, it could have been anytime in the last four years, leola root always tasted the same no matter what. "How have you been?" He was genuinely curious.

Harry grinned.

"Great. Wonderful. _Fabulous_."

Tom's eyebrows went up. He noted that Harry had no food on his tray. In point of fact, Harry was simply carrying around an empty tray, his fingers uncharacteristically drumming on its surface, a nervous gesture Tom did not remember ever seeing before. He decided, in the spirit of friendship, not to comment, but Harry's earlier words took root.

"How good?"

Harry's cheery grin changed to a sly, rather muddled smile, an expression Tom had never seen on his friend's face before. To be honest, he had never seen that look on _anyone's _face before.

"I think you can guess." _Is that smugness?_

Tom whistled softly.

"Do I know her?"

Again, that sly smile. _Where the hell is that coming from?_

"Yes." He held up a hand, dramatically. "Ask me no questions and I will tell you no lies. I am too much a gentleman to impart information on the identity of the lady."

Tom laughed dutifully and nodded, looking down at his plate to hide his face as he fished for another bite. His very reliable instincts were itching again, and it was bothering him. They had begun doing that, off and on, since Sue had talked to him the day before about the odd way she felt those on shore leave were acting, but he hadn't really taken them seriously. Yet when he had come in the Mess Hall today, he had caught himself retreating to a table against the near wall, close to a door, his back to the wall. A space where he could keep his eye on the room, see who entered and exited. He thought he had broken this particular habit living on Voyager. There was no reason for him to feel this way, no _reasonable _reason anyway _Say that two times fast._ Harry's slightly maniacal grin was grating, though, he had to admit it. And the empty tray. That was really beginning to bother him.

"So how is the planet, anyway?" he asked, changing the subject.

Harry blinked. The smile vanished, replaced by a kind of blank, general-issue frown. Tom took that frown in, and his mind, all on its own, began to play connect-the-dots.

"You haven't been down yet?" Even his voice was blank. Tom hid his expression beneath his glass.

"No." Tom took another bite of the casserole, keeping his voice off-hand. "The Captain had me on the bridge skeleton crew."

"But you got off this morning, right?" _Whoa. Since when have you been so incredibly interested in my shifts?_

"Uh-huh." Tom swallowed carefully, certain he would choke if he wasn't vigilant. His entire mind was devoted to this moment, concentrating on Harry's words. Harry's expressions. Or lack thereof.

Harry's face still had that very odd frown. _Like he borrowed that expression from someone else, but never learned to use it. What the hell am I thinking?_ He took another bite, more for something to do than because of hunger. All his wonderful prison reflexes were making a big comeback. A cold adrenaline rush swept his body. The room suddenly seemed to be brighter and clearer, he was able to note the entire complement of the Mess Hall was a little too still, a little too quiet, a little too--what was the word?--_calm_. Tom felt every muscle in his body tense, and for the life of him couldn't figure out what it was alerting him. It reminded him of a pattern he had once seen on a wall, with a picture in it, but you couldn't see it directly. It took almost a corner-of-your-eye approach to see what was inside. Tom had the feeling he was looking at one of those now and the only reason he wasn't seeing the picture was because he was looking for the wrong thing.

The big picture, so to speak. Just out of view.

"Well, B'Elanna was wondering if you wanted to meet her planetside this afternoon." There was an eager expression now, replacing the frown. _Way too eager. Way, way too eager for me to get to the planet--Tom, that is called paranoia. Maybe he missed you. Maybe she misses you._

Maybe this is just a little too much enthusiasm for my company, charming though it may be.

Tom stopped chewing for a moment. Replayed what had been said. Matched the tone of Harry's voice with his memories. _He's lying. I just watched Harry Kim lie to me._

On the heels of that, _Why would he lie? You're starting to sound paranoid, you know. You're imagining things._

Tom finished the mouthful and swallowed, dropping his fork and fixing his expression into an earnestness he knew disarmed.

"What did she say?" He kept the exactly right amount of curiosity and eagerness in his voice. Never had he used this particular talent on Harry. Never thought he would have to.

Harry's face formed the frown-thing again, and Tom caught himself gritting his teeth.

"Just that she missed you." A mild shrug accompanied that, which could mean anything.

"Did she tell you why we fought?" _I can't believe I'm doing this. This is my best friend--who is acting really weird, but--_

"Yeah, she did." Tom let out his pent breath slowly, evenly, not even realizing until that moment he had been holding it.

"I didn't mean to break that vase in her room. I know her father gave it to her." A deliberate lie. He watched Harry.

Harry smiled reassuringly.

"She said just replicate her a new one and bring it down, Tom. You shouldn't worry so much."

Tom found his center, sat there for a brief second. _He lied to my face. Cool and premeditated, and without the slightest hint of apology or remorse. Tuvok cheerful after I got off shift, Chakotay being incredibly friendly and well-meaning in the hall, now Harry. All of them want me to beam down. Now. What the hell is on that planet that is so damned important that everyone is trying to get me down there?_

"You know, you're right, Harry." His voice sounded incredibly natural, incredibly easy. He picked up his tray. "I'm going to go replicate it right now. Are you going down soon?"

"Yes." The eagerness was unmistakable. Tom's stomach turned to ice around the leola root casserole. He knew he was going to be sick.

"Tell B'Elanna I'll meet her down there as soon as I'm done." He stood up, tray in hand, and half-turned to the door.

"She'll probably come looking for you if you don't."

Tom's hair began to stand on end. That was a threat. He could feel it, no matter what kind of smile played on Harry's face, no matter how playful his voice sounded. Tom nodded slowly, moving away backward, unable to make himself turn his back on Harry. Too worried about what would happen if he did.

"See you later." _How am I keeping my voice so damned calm?_

"You _idiot_!"

Tom started, spun on the ball of his foot._ Captain?_ He automatically put the tray on the nearest table. Stared.

The Captain was beside the buffet table, where Crewman Anna Zephyr was standing, shaking, a cup of coffee in one small trembling hand. Or what had been a cup of coffee. If Tom had to extrapolate what just happened, he would guess that, from their positions, Anna must have run into Janeway on her way out. Now the Captain, in her uniform--_it looks as if she wore it to sleep for the last two days--_was standing over the very short crewman, her tunic splotched with stains. She had a look on her face Tom had never seen before.

Then, with cool deliberation, the Captain drew back her arm and backhanded the crewman across the face.

Zephyr's head snapped back and she hit the floor without a sound.

Tom didn't move. Couldn't, really. A part of his mind was waiting. For someone else to react. Time in several prisons and "detention centers" _I've always liked that particular euphemism_ in his misspent youth--_ha, how many years ago was that, seven, eight?--_had conditioned him to keep very calm during a fight, especially if you didn't want to join in one already in progress.

No one reacted. They all continued whatever they were doing. Harry was walking to the door, and Tom watched in appalled shock as he stepped directly over the young woman.

Janeway left, and he slowly walked to Zephyr's side. _Why didn't I stop this? Why did I just stand there?_

Good question. Here's another. Why did the Captain just hit one of her crew?

It seemed to take forever to reach Zephyr, and finally he got to her, helping her up. Her mouth was bleeding, but just a cut lip, nothing more serious. He hoped. Not looking back, he walked out the door, keeping a grip on her other arm. He noticed, from the corner of his eye, Susan Nicoletti standing paralyzed just inside the door, her empty tray forgotten in one hand. Zephyr didn't resist much, she was obviously in shock. He didn't blame her. He was too.

It was a very silent walk from the Mess Hall.

Sickbay was equally quiet. Tom took Zephyr to a biobed. She began to speak and he touched her lips closed.

"Don't talk. I want to make sure your mouth is okay. Computer, activate Emergency Medical Hologram."

:::No such program exists.:::

Tom did a double take. He noticed Zephyr was silently crying, and put aside his shock and confusion. _Worry about that later. If there is a later. There is something desperately wrong here. _He was a trained medic, he could fix her. He ran the medical tricorder over her face, then found the dermal regenerator and applied it. In a few minutes, her mouth was fine, and he gently wiped the blood from her chin, unable to do anything about that on her tunic. Silently, she began to twist her blonde hair back from where it had come loose from the ponytail she had had it in. The blank green eyes glistened with unshed tears.

"What's going on? What is happening to everyone?" she whispered. Tom looked around the Sickbay. No one was nearby. He jumped up on the bed beside her and gave her a Paris smile. It worked to relax women. It did work this time. Barely.

"Tell me what's been happening, Anna, on the ship. What you've seen." He kept his voice gentle, encouraging her to open up, aware that his position as a senior officer would naturally make her a little nervous.

Officers fighting for no reason. Megan Delaney's story was already circulating. The odd obsession the crew who had been planetside seemed to have in getting the rest of them down there. "I used to read about religious fanatics who would kill you if you didn't convert to the religion of choice. I got the feeling that--well, my bunkmate, she had the oddest expression when I said I didn't feel well enough to go down. Something's wrong with them." She gave him a quick glance, as if expecting him to ridicule her statement.

Tom studied the young woman's face. The honest, terrified expression. And knew she was right.

"Zephyr, I want you to do something for me. I want you to look in the hall and see if any of those crew who are acting oddly are out there. If there is, tell me." _She looks about fifteen. But then again, she is only half human. What else? Damn, can't remember, anyway, maybe they all look this young._

She nodded, but her slow movements were a giveaway of her nervousness. Tom ran a hand through his short hair distractedly, wishing he hadn't cut it quite so much, so he had something to fiddle with. Slowly, the young woman went out the door and he waited, loading a hypospray. Calmly, as if he wasn't risking his career just now. Risking his life if he was right.

The doors opened, and Zephyr had done him proud, she _brought _in a crewman-_woman_, rather. He gave them both a professional smile and stepped forward, hypospray behind his back, meeting the eyes of the obviously irritated and ill-at-ease crewmember

"This is my roommate, Crewman Ricarla, Ensign Paris," she said breathlessly, her voice too high. "You said you wanted to see her?"

"Yes, crewman." He glanced at the doors, and then at Ricarla, whose expression was changing to suspicion, and thanked whatever benevolent being watched over reformed convicts that he worked in Sickbay. "Computer, initialize Emergency Privacy Lock authorization Paris Beta Beta Iota."

Ricarla started, and Tom caught her around the waist, then pressed the hypospray against the side of her neck. She collapsed before she even realized she was being assaulted.

"That was fun," he told Zephyr, throwing her a grin, hoping it would calm her. She grinned back. With Zephyr's suddenly enthusiastic help, he placed the crewman on the biobed and initiated a containment field, then worked the medical tricorder over her. Twice.

"Computer, display baseline vitals for Crewman Ricarla."

The panel across from him lit up, and he studied it for a moment, then back at the tricorder. _That can't be right._

Just to make sure, he ran the tricorder again, then checked the baseline to make sure it really _was_ hers. It was. He noticed she was waking up._ That hypospray should have knocked her out for at least half an hour, I know the dosage. _

The closed eyes opened, not blearily, not slowly rising, but fast, almost snapping into place, and when those muddy green eyes looked at him, he wanted to disappear. The feeling shocked him. Zephyr whimpered, retreating, and that he couldn't blame on age, he wanted to do the same thing. But he was Tom Paris, a senior officer, he wasn't able to indulge his terror. He filled the hypospray again, deactivated containment, and wrestled her down, pressing it against the bare flesh of her arm when he couldn't get to her neck. More disturbing than anything else was her silence. As if she didn't know how to scream. Her mouth opened, but no words formed or sounds emerged before the muddy eyes closed. For good measure, he gave her another dose. He didn't think it would be long before she woke up.

"Crewman?"

Zephyr turned huge eyes on him. He gentled his voice. "I need you to do something for me. You can tell who is affected by this?"

"Yes, sir."

"How?"

A feeling, sir." He gave her a sharp look.

"Are you empathic?"

"Yes, sir. My mother was half-Betazoid."

_Should have guessed, considering how strongly she is reacting._

In Tom's mind, a plan was forming. But he needed to be sure.

"I need you to take a message to someone for me, Zephyr. Susan Nicoletti. She isn't affected, is she?"

The delicate head shook, and he took a deep, calming breath.

"Tell her cargo bay one, 1400 hours. Bring friends. That's all. I want you to come to the meeting too. After you talk to Nicoletti, I want you to go somewhere that you can be alone. Will your quarters...?" She shook her head frantically, and he remembered how very crowded the crew quarters were. "Go to hydroponics. No one is there this time of day." He caught himself speaking very slowly, as if to a small child, and stopped himself. _But she looks so damned young, it's hard not to, especially right now._

"Go now."

A few minutes later, he watched the young woman on the biobed, now contained, wake up. Again, her eyes snapped open, and they found him unerringly. This time, he was ready, and didn't give react to the hostility he sensed from her.

"Good day, crewman. Maybe you can help me with something." His tone was easy, and he slapped the hypospray against his hand lightly as he circled her. He knew very well the power of visual stimuli to convince people to do something.

"I don't understand, sir." Her voice was oddly flat for a plea. He pulled up a chair, turning it backward so he could rest his arms on the back and, incidentally, make sure she saw the hypospray dangling from one hand.

From the look on her face, he didn't think she missed it.

"What is wrong with this crew?" Tom watched her try to struggle against the containment field with a little amusement. He had changed the settings and set the paralytic field in place as well. The Doctor had shown Tom how to use it only a few days before arriving on the planet, during some minor back surgery on a crewman. He kept his eyes on the medical tricorder, watching her adrenaline and endorphin levels. Reading the vitals that no longer matched her baseline. Wondering if whatever was wrong with her might possibly break her free.

He didn't want to test that. This would have to be fast. He locked down the sick feeling rising in his stomach, knowing what he had to do, but he would be damned if he would like it.

"I don't know what you are talking about, sir." _You are as lousy a liar as Harry._

"I think you do." He held up the tricorder, then picked up the other hyposprays he had prepared before she woke. Centered himself. _I haven't done anything like this in a very long time. Another skill in my checkered past, I am a good interrogator._ "And I think you will tell me what I want to know." He stood beside the bed, looking into muddy green, that now flashed with hatred, and brought down the containment field, leaving the paralytic, hoping whatever was wrong with her wasn't contagious. "And soon."

* * *

It hadn't taken long, and he knocked her out again (with an incredibly high dosage he never, never would have considered using, but having the readings from her to work from he was aware it was the only way to keep her unconscious) before beginning his search for the EMH. Gone. He checked archives, checked the main computer, even the holodeck programs. Nothing. Then considered who would have both the authorization and the ability to wipe the Doc.

Two people. One, the Captain. But she had been in the Mess Hall the same time he had been. He had visited Doc only a few minutes before going to getting something to eat.

"Computer, location of Lieutenant Torres." A part of him hoped he was wrong.

:::Lieutenant Torres is in her quarters.:::

_And there she is._

Tom left the office and walked to the biobed, wondering what he was going to do with his prisoner. Odd, how easy it was to slip back into a life of crime. But what she had told him had been enough. Scared him and set his goal. Clear the ship of every one of those infected until he could find a way to reverse it.

"You know, all I have ever wanted to do is fly. I don't want to interrogate and I don't want to instigate a mutiny." He heard himself talking to an unconscious woman and stopped himself. _I'm snapping. Always knew it would happen eventually. I need a vacation._

Tom thought. Hard.

And had an idea.

He released the paralytic/containment field and picked Ensign Ricarla up. She was heavier than she looked.

"Paris to Nicoletti." _I hope they aren't observing us. Okay, Tom, that is paranoia._

:::Nicoletti here.::: Her voice sounded wary.

"Had any visitors, or are things pretty boring down near the transporters?" Nicoletti worked in engineering. He could almost see her thinking. Making the connection. _Intuition is a wonderful thing, Sue, use it._

There was a long pause, and Tom held his breath.

:::Lonely, but okay. Not many people around for transporting. One or two people came down to gossip, you want to start a new betting pool?:::_ Zephyr, good job. You are brilliant, Sue, I owe you big time._

"Not now, no extra rations, you cleaned me out during the last holographic game of pool we played." He kept his voice light, playful.

:::That was in Holodeck Two, right?:::

"Yeah, it was. Can you do me a favor?"

:::_Anything _for you, Tom.::: He grinned unwillingly at the exaggeration.

"Will you check my logs and see if there are any discrepancies? You are better with computers than I am and I got some false readings in my logs last time I checked. Direction was way off."

:::You need it done now?:::

"I'd love it if you have the time. I really need to get this done before I see the Captain."

:::I have a break coming. I can do it now.:::

"You're an angel. Paris out."

Tom hefted Ricarla's weight again. _I need to work out more. _At least, now, he wouldn't have to worry about anyone tracing this quick transport.

"Computer, initiate site-to-site transport, Sickbay to Holodeck 2."

The shimmering covered him, and if his molecules hadn't been in state of flux, he would have smiled.

* * *

**Day 4 0230 hours - Present Time**

Tom glanced at Nicoletti.

"You have great intuition."

She shrugged, but the awkward moment between them had passed, and they both were more relaxed.

"I _have_ known you for a long time."

"I _knew_ I would be a bad influence on the crew!" They laughed together for a moment, not really because of anything he said, but because they needed to. Sue looked exhausted.

"You should go to bed," he said gently, catching her laugh become a yawn.

"Yeah, and when is the last time you slept?" Tom realized he couldn't remember, and flushed a little under her knowing smile. "I thought so. Vorik and Ensign Henna are going to relieve _both_ of us in an hour."

"I can't..."

"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

Her sudden formality startled him, and he nodded.

"We need you, if we are going to get the others back. And I know you're tired." Her face betrayed real concern. "Tom, take the time until Alpha Shift to sleep."

"I don't know if I can." The admission hurt. The idea of what would dance through his mind the minute he was alone and his eyes closed did not bear examining. Sue seemed to see that, and she reached out, taking his hand.

"Tom..." She frowned, started again. "Sir, I saw--in the conference room--"

He shook his head sharply, and she didn't speak further. They sat together in silence. Finally, giving her fingers a squeeze, he nodded.

"You're right, I do need some sleep."

"Nothing is going on. I can hold out until Vorik gets here." She nodded to the ready room. "You could sleep in there, if you want. That way if anything happens, you'd be right here."

That hadn't occurred to him before._ Anything to keep me from my room. _He smiled, squeezed her hand again, and found he had some difficulty letting go. Quickly, he stood up, realizing just how tired he really was._ Four hours won't be much, but at least I will get my edge back. _

Sue watched him leave, lips tight. Knowing something else had happened to Tom before their meeting that afternoon. The set look on his face, the battle between blankness and anger in the blue eyes during their meeting, his odd sharpness...but more, the way he had thrown himself into their mutiny, heart and soul.

Alone on the Bridge of the Federation Starship Voyager, Susan Nicoletti began her diagnostics of the systems on Voyager. There was nothing else to do right now, and the thoughts she entertained did not bear more examination.

Not now.

* * *

Tom gave the leather couch a dubious look, but it was better than nothing. Luckily, a blanket was lying in the corner, and he picked it up and spread it, then took off his boots.

"Computer, initiate privacy lock." _Just in case. Though I have no idea why anyone would want to come in here._

Carefully, he removed his shirt and debated removing his pants (he vividly remembered the last time he had slept in them, uncomfortable had been an understatement). Then he considered the ramifications of an emergency, running out to the Bridge in his boxers, and decided the pants would make acceptable pajamas.

"Computer, lower light to five percent."

He liked the dark, it gave him a sense of privacy. Carefully, he felt his way down on the couch, wondering why he hadn't waited until he was actually laying down before killing all illumination. His feet stopped well before his head was low enough to touch the small pillow he made of his turtleneck, and he looked at the ceiling to regain his temper before drawing his legs up. Squelched into a tiny ball, he somehow maneuvered the blanket into place over him.

_How the hell am I going to sleep like this?_

He rolled onto his side carefully, making sure the blanket didn't catch under him, and tried to bury himself in the pillow. An injudicious movement brought his jaw in contact with the arm of the couch and he swore, rubbing the spot

* * *

**Day 1 1600 hours - three days earlier**

"B'Elanna, what difference does it make?" She was mad. Not angry, not pissed, but mad, Klingon-violent mad, and he knew it the second he walked in her quarters, just by the way she sat on the couch.

Somehow, Tom had hoped for something more pleasant. They were arriving near a quiet M-class planet that day and he had wanted to sign up himself and B'Elanna for shoreleave.

This mood told him it wouldn't be happening like that, and Tom was getting impatient. He had pulled double shifts for almost two weeks, Sickbay and Bridge, had looked forward to spending more than a few hours at a time with his lover. Not to mention getting some rest.

After forty-five minutes of a B'Elanna temper tantrum, Tom's patience gave out. He acknowledged that if he had gotten up earlier, he could have had it regenerated in sickbay, and if he would keep spare power cells in his room, this wouldn't have been a problem. He tried. B'Elanna didn't, and Tom was tired. More tired than she knew or cared at that point.

B'Elanna stared up into the blue eyes of her mate. Then, pointedly, to the bite on the point of his jaw. That had been there all day, to her utter embarrassment.

"It makes a difference. The crew--"

"Fuck the crew. Since when do you care what anyone thinks of you? The whole damned ship, thanks to Seven, is quite aware of how we spend our nights together, what difference does it make if I'm wearing a little proof? Are you that ashamed of me?" His voice picked up heat and volume. It spurred B'Elanna on.

"That's not fair..."

"Isn't it? The only time I ever see you is when we are in bed together. Oh, I get a lunch or dinner once in a while, if your precious engines can spare you, but it hasn't escaped my attention that we _never_ eat in public alone together without Harry if there is a possibility a large number of the crew might see us together, especially the Maquis. And I won't even _discuss_ our professional relationship at work, the type where you pretend I don't exist..."

"You're overreacting!"

Tom lost his temper. That was new. Annoyed, irritated, even upset, she'd seen them all, but never truly angry.

"The hell I am!" His hands bunched into fists in his discarded tunic, he met the startled eyes of the angry engineer. "I have been _underreacting_ for so long you think it's natural! Now, I _apologized _that I didn't get the dermal regenerator out to fix this before shift today, but _if you remember_ its power cell ran out last night. Hell, the damned thing was in _your _hand when it did!"

B'Elanna blinked, stepping back. Aware she had reached his limits of patience, and took a more conciliatory tone. For her, anyway.

"Tom, I just don't want to advertise--"

"That you fuck me every night?"

The chill bitterness in his tone startled her speechless. So did the crudity.

"Is it that bad, to be with me, B'Elanna?" His voice was deathly quiet.

"Of _course _not--"

"Or is the reason you are so secretive is that all this relationship means to you is sex?" Tom's voice dropped lower, quieter, and somehow that was worse than yelling. "Would anyone have done, or did you want to see if everything Sue and Megan have said about how good I am in bed is true..."

He was cut off by the uppercut across his jaw. His head snapped to one side and he lifted his face, touching the blood at the corner of his mouth with one finger. B'Elanna took a deep breath, holding her hand, which stung from the contact.

"Then the sex is over," she whispered. "Get out."

"Gladly." And he turned and walked out the door.


	2. Essentials

**Day 4 0700 hours - Present Time**

Tom woke for Alpha shift, surprised he had slept at all. He stretched out slowly, found the couch was too small (one of the reasons he was sleeping in a fetal position in the first place) and stood up. _Ouch. One cramp, two cramps, three cramps, four...why on earth do they make these couches so small? Of course, people aren't supposed to sleep in the ready room, either, but a little foresight..._

He picked up his turtleneck off the floor. Remarkably, sleeping in one's uniform pants wasn't nearly as uncomfortable as he remembered --_though when you are tired enough you can probably sleep in an stasis unit equally well--oooh, I didn't need that kind of imagery this morning--_ but now they were wrinkled. He looked at the blood on his turtleneck from Ensign Zephyr and sighed. It needed to be washed; if he was going to play Captain, he needed to look the part at least.

Slowly, still working out the cricks in his back and neck, he wandered over to the replicator. _Did Vorik check this one yet?_ Tom hit his comm badge.

"Paris to Vorik."

:::Vorik here, sir.:::

"Did you sweep the replicator in the ready room?"

:::Yes, sir.:::

Tom appeared satisfied. Then a thought occurred to him: Vorik hadn't been to the Bridge after the mutiny. Certainly not before Tom had appropriated the ready room for a bedroom.

"Vorik, _when_ did you scan it?"

A very long pause.

::While you were sleeping, sir. Lieutenant Nicoletti informed me you would probably wish for coffee this morning and I was to make sure the replicator was safe for use."

_That was excellent, Sue. A commendation for saving my ass this morning. And Vorik old man, you are becoming quite the criminal hacker. We can share a cell at Auckland._

"Good work, Ensign. Carry on. I'll relieve you in," he checked the chronometer, "fifty minutes."

:::Yes, sir.:::

"Paris out."

_You gotta love Vulcans. No unnecessary conversation, get straight to the point and just do it. Very, very nice._

Tom went to the replicator.

"Large espresso, hot, bill to Tom Paris, authorization Paris Psi Tau Kappa."

The cup appeared, and it was indeed large. Tom rubbed his eyes and picked up the cup. _Gods, this is bitter. Maybe I should have asked for raktajino. _But it had the desired effect, waking him up quite thoroughly. Feeling a little more alive, and the cramps gone, he leaned against the wall by the replicator.

"One pair of uniform pants and one shirt, size Tom Paris, bill to Tom Paris, authorization Paris Psi Tau Kappa." _I hope I have enough replicator rations for that, I can't go to my room looking like this and I'll be damned if I will send someone to get me clothes._

However, his luck was still with him, and the items appeared instantly. Setting down the cup, he stripped off his clothes and redressed. His uniform jacket was still outside on the Bridge...

_Ah, no it's not. Bless Vulcan efficiency, Vorik must have brought it in._

His jacket sat on the chair by the desk. He fished his original turtleneck up and removed the pip and put it on his clean uniform. He wished, rather wistfully, that he had time for a shower. _Later._

He sat down at the desk, closed his eyes, and took a long shot of very hot coffee.

He knew he would need it.

* * *

**Day 4 0800 hours - Present Time**

"Report."

The Bridge was at half-strength, with Baytart holding down the conn, Vorik in command, and young Ensign Larson, actually a member of security, sitting in at Ops. Tom had made significant changes to the command the night before, combining some tasks with others to keep as many people possible fixing the extremely odd changes that had occurred during the "shore leave crew's" few returns from the planet.

The warp core had almost been completely detached, and the computers infected with what appeared to be a kind of information-gathering worm virus that had kept Vorik and Crewman Stein up half the night fixing. The environmental controls had been subtly changed to slowly add more nitrogen to the air, and the replicators had only just been cleared of the presence of the hallucinogen. Carey had yet to leave engineering, still hard at work re-attaching power relays and plasma conduits that had been sealed shut. It was slow going for all the crew.

Those with even minor medical training were charged with helping the Doctor find out exactly what they were dealing with. Before the takeover the night before, Tom had run med scans on seven of the infected crewmen to be compared with the baselines they had on record in Sickbay. Just to see if what Ricarla had told him was true

She had disclosed some information--_under duress, but information is information, however you get it, and I don't really think she would lie_\--but it was not enough. Not nearly enough.

"All systems are back on-line, sir," Vorik announced, standing up from the Big Chair. Tom looked at him speculatively, but he didn't seem to feel the same discomfort Tom had sitting in it. _Interesting. Maybe it's just me--and Sue, perhaps._

"Did you finish setting the command lock-outs?"

"Yes, sir. The computer will not accept commands from anyone not currently residing on Voyager."

"Double check and make sure all codes belonging to the senior staff are erased. We can't afford mistakes, Vorik."

"Yes, sir."

"Captain Janeway also has two sets of override commands set in this system, instituted after Seska's takeover of the ship. I need those found and disabled, on the off-chance she could get into the Voyager computers from the surface." He glanced around the quiet Bridge, checked the chronometer, and almost on cue Susan Nicoletti walked in. He gave her an acknowledging nod. Just behind her, Samantha Wildman exited the turbolift, going to her station as the new acting head of Ops, relieving poor beleaguered Larson.

"Not bad, Ensigns." They each flashed a tentative smile back, and took their positions. Tom handed Sue the PADD Vorik had given him detailing the latest repairs, and she set herself to work.

"Vorik, go to bed." At Vorik's arched eyebrow, the Vulcan equivalent of shock, Tom was hard-pressed to keep from laughing. "I need you during both Beta and Gamma shift today. Staff meeting at 1200 during lunch, it will be here in the conference room. Don't worry, anyone, there will be food!" More smiles from assorted members of the crew, a little less tense, more real. "Where's Ensign Henna?"

"She's in engineering, sir, Lieutenant Carey requested her assistance. She should be back within the hour to relieve me," Baytart reported.

Tom, with some dark humor, wished he had pulled his mutiny at the beginning of the Gamma shift, rather than the middle. Beta would be the first shift with a more or less complete complement of crew in the major departments Tom had prioritized. Running with half a shift's complement made Tom nervous, but the choice between keeping a full Bridge complement and getting all the systems clean was no choice at all.

The assignments had not been easy. Somehow, they had managed to keep most of his own conn department, and everyone in engineering except B'Elanna. _Don't think, don't think, not now_ They had lost most of security, ops, and several important subsystems, including computer maintenance. Crewman Joseph Stein was now in charge of that department, with only two extremely junior crew to help him. Sue hadn't been able to assign him anyone extra, but Joseph was an incredible programmer, as well as a good leader. Vorik was helping him with some of the more advanced functions. Stellar Cartography and most of the sciences had been temporarily disabled, the crew moved to the prioritized areas, but it still left a huge gap. Whatever had been on that planet had gone after the most skilled and most senior officers first.

_When Janeway ordered all the senior officers down there, I should have protested, we should have been more careful; what the hell were we thinking?_

It was pure luck that Tom hadn't gone down. His fight with B'Elanna had led him to volunteer for skeleton bridge duty while the first wave of officers went down, and it had been a full twenty-four hours, well into the second day in orbit, before Captain Janeway had ordered general shore leave for the rest of the crew. His competing Sickbay and Bridge duties, as well as a general fit of the sulks, had kept him from signing up for leave.

His discoveries on the third day had, of course, assured he would not be going down ever.

_Luck. Unbelievable luck, really._

Tom shook his head, then hardened his expression, turning to Susan Nicoletti.

"How are weapons?"

Surprised, she looked up from the data PADD she was perusing.

"Weapons are fully charged, sir. They weren't affected by the fight last night." He nodded acknowledgement.

Tom studied the viewscreen. For the sake of variety, it had been switched to an interior view of the nebula. The choice of hiding place had been based on Tuvok's earlier comments on its density and the wave patterns, which, as Tuvok so succinctly put it, "could hide any number of hostile vessels." At the time, Tom thought Tuvok's usual professional paranoia was amusing.

_Where the hell was that professional paranoia when we got here, anyway? What the hell were we thinking?_

"Susan, I need a complete diagnostic and report on weapons and shields done immediately. Is anyone assigned to tactical this shift?"

Susan scanned her PADD.

"No, sir, on Gamma shift Ensign Ayala will be assigned. Ensign Barker is on during Beta. Is Ayala needed, sir?"

"Where is he now?" Tom caught his fingers tapping impatiently on the arm of the chair and stopped.

"Computer, location of Lieutenant Ayala?" queried Susan.

:::Lieutenant Ayala is in his quarters.:::

She glanced at Tom.

"He received notice to be here for the staff meeting, sir, at 1200." Tom nodded, knowing Ayala would be pulling more than Gamma shift tonight.

Tom went to tactical himself. It wasn't his specialty, but he had enough knowledge to at least begin what would have to be done.

"That's be fine, Susan. Carry on."

Tom listened as Susan fielded inquiries and complaints from all over the ship. _One nice thing about being a Captain, at least I don't have to deal with that. Sue is much better at that sort of thing than I am, anyway. _Shaking the thought aside, he began re-running the diagnostics that Vorik had performed at the end of Gamma shift.

Susan Nicoletti was turning out to be an excellent exec. After their coup had been completed, they had worked out the new crew rotations and assignments. She was one of those people whom everyone was on good terms with, and was able, after a little consultation with those in question, to reassign personnel from non-essential areas to essential systems whose departments had been reduced. Even better, she didn't question his priorities on which systems needed the quickest relief.

"Have you decided who will be temporary Department Heads?" _Temporary. I hope._

Tom gave her a crooked smile.

"My co-conspirators, of course. Who ever told you crime doesn't pay?"

Susan laughed, but truthfully, she was impressed with Tom's planning skills. When she had received Tom's message through Zephyr, she had been floored, and yet, somehow, Tom had pulled it all together in record time. The plan for the coup had been complete before the first crewmembers crept into cargo bay one, and this had been a huge relief to all involved. The plan had been perfect, taking everything into account, even turbolift speed and computer response time.

To be honest, she shouldn't have been so surprised. While Tom's current position on Voyager had been a reward from Captain Janeway, Tom had been Starfleet and made it through Command School. He had been groomed his entire life with expectation that one day he would captain a starship and rise to Admiral. While the Caldik Prime incident had destroyed this particular dream, and his Maquis activities finished driving that expectation into the ground, there was no question that those abilities were still present. Polished even, after serving under Captain Janeway.

Sue found some irony in the fact every one of them had so naturally followed Tom when he chose to lead. Perhaps because of his lack of previous loyalties when he was given his position on Voyager, most of the crew had come to trust him. Not all, but the vast majority. He had become, in many ways, a symbol of everyone's struggle to integrate Starfleet and Maquis, outsider and insider.

Watching him work, she marveled how easily he had taken command. No one had dissented his right to do so, and no one had questioned that authority since. _Of course, when you have the top twelve remaining officers doing the unquestioning support thing, I suppose it is only natural no one wants to rock the boat. Besides, the only security people left are Ayala's closest friends, since none of them wanted to go down to that planet without the others, so personal loyalty there. Tom's department has incredible loyalty to him, so no problems there either. Engineering is mostly Maquis, but they have strong ties to Carey; if he tells them black is white, they'll agree. I'm beginning to suspect, too, that something happened in engineering with B'Elanna when she returned to the ship that last time. Carey had that black eye, and only said it was an engineering accident but I wonder. I really do._

Sue pushed herself from her thoughts at Tom's voice.

"Yes, sir?"

He had a very slight smile on his face, and Sue remembered that smile from what seemed like so long ago. That "I'm thinking of doing something really crazy, care to join in?" smile that he had used on her more than once to convince her to pursue such activities as rock-climbing, sky-diving, and Tae Kwon Do on the Holodeck. She still did Tae Kwon Do with him once a week or so, though careful not to bring this to B'Elanna's attention too much, knowing the Chief Engineer's temper, and her possessiveness. _Well, not possessiveness, but she knows Tom and I dated, and doesn't particularly enjoy the idea of him spending too much time alone with me. To be honest, if I were in her shoes, neither would I._

"I need some help. Care to give me a hand?"

She put down the PADD, getting up from the Second Chair (as she referred to the First Officer's seat) in barely disguised relief, and made her way to tactical. That Chair, since the beginning, always seemed to be trying to suck her in, drown her in its leather depths. She wondered if Tom felt that way about the Big Chair. _Probably not. He was born to sit in one of those. He looks so at ease in it, I'll bet it fits him perfectly._ It was disheartening.

When she looked at what he had done to tactical, she blinked. Then she did a double take.

"Like it?" He sounded a little smug. Her lips quivered in response.

"If I knew what you'd done, I'm sure I could compliment you on the artistry."

Tom's muted laugh was the most natural she had heard since--well, since they arrived at this godforsaken planet.

"I'm separating Tactical and Security temporarily. Each one will be controlled by a different officer. Vorik will be all over Department Head and hold Tactical, and Ayala will act as his second there and head of Security."

"Why is the separation necessary?"

Tom gave her a long look, but she could see his mind was far away.

"If you can hold your curiosity until the meeting, I can tell you then. I need to talk to the Doc first. Sam?"

Samantha, running diagnostics, looked up quickly. Flushed.

"Sir?"

"I want you to run continuous sensor sweeps of everything around us, at increased and decreased sensitivity, randomly."

Samantha blinked.

"Sir?"

"Don't worry, I'm not going crazy, I'm being creative. If anyone comes near the planet, they will, of course, be checking for ships. I don't want them to find us, but I don't want them to escape our notice either because our sensors alert them. Make it look like random wave patterns from the nebula." Abruptly, he remembered her specialty wasn't Ops. Best not show less than confidence. He left Susan at tactical and joined Sam at her station.

Tom had done a little cross-training on Ops (it helped that his best friend was head of the department) and Tom had learned several tricks from Harry. Combined with his own rudimentary knowledge of procedure, he was able to set his ideas on course. After he was finished, Tom gave her a PADD he had put together before he came on shift.

"It's just some simple instructions on Ops so if you get confused, you have a reference." He gave her his famous Paris smile, or the "parismile" as some of the younger crewwomen called it. She smiled back, a little tentatively, and Tom turned to the Bridge at large.

"If I'm needed, I'll be in Sickbay for the next hour. Lieutenant Nicoletti, you have the Bridge." He disappeared into the turbolift.

Sue nodded in acknowledgement and went back to work.

* * *

**Day 4 0950 hours - Present Time**

"What've you got, Doc?"

The Holodoc glanced up when Tom entered, then his eyes flew over to the group of biologists and other hard science specialists gathered around the different diagnostic panels.

"As much as can be expected, I suppose, Mr. Paris," he answered. "Anything you need?" He sounded impatient. Not unusual. Tom often wondered if the Doctor believed there was a conspiracy on the ship aimed specifically at annoying him, spearheaded by Tom himself. At the moment, the thought was tempting. He crossed his arms and casually leaned against the doorway.

"Just a talk. Care to take a walk with me?"

The Doctor blinked, considering Tom for a long moment. The casualness did not fool him for a moment.

"Very well. Ensign Orial, you have Sickbay. I will be with Mr. Paris."

Tom led the way, the Doctor following in silence until they reached Tom's quarters. Tom solemnly ushered him in, and invited him to take a seat.

"I assume you wish my report to be private." The Doctor's voice was testy, but there was understanding there too.

"What do you have?"

"The physiological changes are very interesting, to say the least." Tom might have groaned; nothing could keep the Doctor from enthusing on the joys of expanding the frontiers of medical science. "The stomach has been altered somewhat, though I cannot yet find out the reason, the lungs can now process much less oxygen-intensive air as well as process, of all things, an atmosphere based on pure nitrogen. The most interesting change was in brain tissue itself. While I cannot be certain, the changes seem to affect only gray matter tissue. However, all the changes are very easily reversible. What I cannot understand is the behavior that is attributed to those affected. Their normal brain wave activity seems to be equal to the readings you took on those infected crewman, despite the brain tissue changes, but you did have them sedated when you took those readings, did you not?"

Tom's slightly nasty grin answered that, so the Doctor didn't bother to ask for verbal confirmation.

"If I had an infected crewmember to examine, it would be easier."

Tom's grin changed, and Doctor, who had worked very closely with Mr. Paris for several years, instantly recognized it.

"I thought you evacuated the ship to avoid contamination."

Tom leaned back in his chair.

"I did, with the exception of those--umm, volunteers." The light in his eyes made The Doctor wonder. "They're on Holodeck 2, in one of the very best brig programs yours truly ever wrote. None are aware any of the others are there, and I've been monitoring from the Bridge," Tom said smugly.

"Who else knows?"

"Lieutenant Ayala and Ensign Vorik, that's it, since they helped me hunt for them. Vorik's watched when I haven't been able to. I cut off access to that holodeck and Ayala made up the damage report sheet. So far, no one has tried to break my codes. I've been there only once since--well, since the forcible evacuation, and everything was fine. Don't look like that, I chose those particular crewmen because of their lack of programming skills, on the off-chance something went wrong."

"Who do you have?"

"None of the senior officers, if that's what you mean. They were too dangerous. A few regular crewmen, lower officers, ones who wouldn't be missed too quickly."

"You haven't told anyone else?"

"Not until we have some results. My--" he stopped, and the Doctor watched Tom's face change. Paler? Uncomfortable. "From one of them I received a lot of information. I need confirmation that what she said is true before I tell the others."

Watching Tom's face, the Doctor debated asking him under what circumstances he had received the information. And then said nothing, merely nodded.

"We'll go there now. Are you ready?"

The Doctor noticed the medkit sitting at Tom's feet and both eyebrows went up.

"You are certainly prepared."

"I've always played a good game of chess, Doc." He picked up the bag. "Computer, initiate site-to-site transport program Paris Gamma 3, authorization Paris Alpha One, Alpha Two, Beta One."

* * *

**Day 4 1200 hours - Present Time**

As promised, Tom delivered on lunch. He had always believed that staff meeting should include food, and as a youth at Starfleet Academy, he had seriously considered launching a petition so that by the time he came on board a starship, snacks would be required. He had asked everyone to bring some kind of fingerfood with them, and as they arrived the first meeting of the Acting Senior Staff began to look something like a party. _Well, maybe a wake._

Tom, in the Captain's uncomfortable Chair at the head of the table, waited for his eleven co-conspirators to settle down before rising.

"To open our meeting, I will begin by naming the new Acting Department Heads. All of you know what your own position is, but a general run through wouldn't hurt, so you know each other." He smiled at their light, but forced, laughter. He wanted desperately to keep it light right now--in far too short a time, that would be quickly changed. Ayala and Vorik looked a little solemn, but Vorik _was _Vulcan, how could he be blamed? Ayala's usually cheery face betrayed him--dark, solemn, even when the full mouth was stretched into an unconvincing smile. Well, unconvincing for Tom, maybe the others were fooled.

"Lieutenant Susan Nicoletti, Acting First Officer," he introduced. "The helm will be headed by Ensign Pablo Baytart, with Ensign Elizabeth Henna, as his second. Ops is now headed by Ensign Samantha Wildman, with Ensign Megan Delaney as her second. Lieutenant Joseph Carey heads Engineering, his second will be decided when he decides," (muted laughter) "and the Head of Tactical will be Ensign Vorik."

He looked at Ayala, then Vorik, then the room at large. He'd prepared for this explanation since he had first discovered the secondary danger they were in. It didn't make it any easier.

"For the purpose of finding a way to help our lost crewmembers, I have split the security department into two separate sections. Tactical will be Ensign Vorik's department, and, due to our extremely limited crew, Sue will assist him when necessary. Lieutenant Ayala will head up ship security. The people assigned to you both will be interchangeable, and your duties will intersect, but I think it's the best arrangement. For now, at least."

Both nodded, and Tom moved on. He knew they understood why.

"All natural scientists have been moved into The Doctor's department. Now, Lieutenant Yolanda Ferris will head Ship's Services, Reclamations, and all other non-essential systems. Transporter Chief is our new Ensign Anna Zephyr." All eyes turned to the young woman sitting at the end of the table, with a brand-new pip on her collar, and there was a round of quiet, though sincere, applause. "Finally, patient Crewman--no, that's Ensign--Stein, who will cover computer maintenance." He waited for the applause to die down, and gestured at the food. "Take some time and eat before we continue."

Tom knew he wouldn't be able to look at food for a while, so didn't bother trying. Vorik seemed disinclined to anything but the crackers that Tom had replicated earlier, and Ayala simply closed his eyes and rested his head back on his chair. As he had been on shift all night, no one considered it unusual for him to take a short break, and the group proceeded, if not merrily, with a great deal less tension than might have been expected. When the different dishes were reduced to scraps, Tom called the meeting back to order, and was pleased to see how professional everyone became on cue. Carefully, he folded his hands and looked at them all.

"Under Federation law, as you all know, we are mutineers, and could face a court-martial when we find a way to cure the captain." He kept his voice sure, they _would_ find a way to cure her, one way or another. The thought of not--it didn't bear mention. "I don't think it's very likely." He tried to sound confident. "However, I do not want to risk the possibility that any of you will be tried for other than that mutiny, which we can plead the inability of the Captain to lead us." He took a breath. "From this moment on, I'm taking full responsibility for all orders given, so if it comes to a court-martial, none of you can be implicated in anything else."

Sue leaned forward, eyes flashing.

"With your permission, sir?" Formality again. He nodded, sitting back in the chair. Shifted to make himself comfortable. "Whatever orders you give, I will obey, all of us will, there is no question of that. But I, at least, claim equal responsibility for whatever we do. When accepting the position as your First Officer, I became as heavily implicated as you, and if there should be a court-martial, not over the mutiny, which falls under definite extreme circumstances which even a Starfleet court run by my great grandfather would call necessary, but over the method by which we command this ship, I can and will claim full responsibility for my actions." She paused to catch her breath and glanced about the room, seeing the heads nod in agreement. So did Tom, and he didn't like it. He had given this a lot of thought and studied the regulations to make this work, and Sue led the revolt against him. It made him reluctantly smile.

"When you hear what I am planning, you might take that back, Sue," he said softly. The aqua eyes flashed back without the slightest hint of uncertainty.

Lieutenant Ayala's grip on his PADD grew visibly tighter, and Tom decided to act.

"Under regulations as they stand, there is no way around Federation Policy regarding the ethical treatment of prisoners or captives, except in circumstances not applicable here. However, I have decided that these circumstances warrant it. We're under half-power, and the half of our crew that is here is among the lower orders of officers and specialists. We lost our Senior Staff, most of our department heads, and all the Starfleet information in their minds. As Starfleet officers, we cannot afford leave a large group of our own people in this situation, with the possibility that they can use their information against the Federation."

He took a deep breath. This was hard.

"I am--I am dismissing all Federation policy regarding the ethical treatment of prisoners. Six hours before we took the ship, Lieutenant Ayala, Ensign Vorik, and I took seven prisoners to Holodeck 2, members of our crew under the influence of noncorporeal lifeforms that call themselves the K'eya."

The conference room was very silent. Tom took a deep breath and continued.

"Before I enlisted the assistance of Lieutenant Ayala and Ensign Vorik, Ensign Zephyr and I apprehended her roommate, Crewman Ricarla, who was under the K'eyan influence. After Zephyr left, I proceeded to interrogate Ricarla using chemical coercion techniques." He kept his gaze fixed over their heads, breathing deeply, hoping he looked as if he were still in control. "The information she gave me is here." He passed the PADDs around, first to Ayala, who handed it off, already having seen the report. He waited while everyone looked it over and copied it onto their own PADDs for later viewing.

Sue was the first to speak.

"They are being held right now in the Holodeck?" Her voice was tight.

"Yes. The Doctor is with them right now performing a complete medical scan. Ensign Zephyr," he turned his attention quickly to the young ensign, avoiding Sue's darkening eyes, "the Doctor wishes you to report to him at the end of your shift, he thinks he may have a use for your empathic skills." At her shy nod, he continued.

"The K'eya apparently infect the host bodies using the hallucinogen we found in the food onboard the ship and a property of the planet's atmosphere. While on the planet, they are able to remain within a host body long enough to affect the physiological changes necessary for them to assume control of that body." Tom looked around the room. "What we know now is that these creatures, if they are separated from the body while off the planet, will die. What we don't know is how to accomplish the separation or how long it will take before they die." Tom noticed their relaxation and felt his own body mirror them. One less problem. Infected crewman with body-jumping parasites abounding on Voyager. A nightmare he knew Sam had worried about since their mutiny, restricting Naomi to quarters at all times.

At least, that much they could be thankful for. Unless they went to the planet's surface, they were safe from infection.

"Now, the second item of business. The reason for the modification of security."

Again, Vorik and Ayala already knew. Tom saw Sue's curious glance at them, then her gaze darted back to him. She wasn't pleased to be left out of the loop. He suddenly understood how Janeway must have felt when she had concealed Tom's activities as a "malcontent" from Chakotay.

"From Crewman Ricarla, we discovered the name of the species that trapped the K'eya on the planet. They are called the Da'Oon, a corporeal spacefaring race. The K'eyan entity I spoke to did not know why the imprisonment occurred, and frankly I didn't care, so I didn't push the issue much. There are two things about them, however, that give me pause.

"They sealed this system over a millennia ago. We broke that seal."

Sue started, eyes wide.

"How?"

Tom shrugged.

"Your guess is as good as mine. Voyager didn't detect any anomalous readings when we entered this system, but the Th'alin were here first, so perhaps the seal, by the time we got here, was gone." Sue nodded, and Tom went on.

"There is a high probability that the Da'Oon will be aware that the Th'alin ships we destroyed yesterday and Voyager are both in this system, and it is no longer sealed. From what I understand, they will most likely attack first and ask questions later, when they find us. I have no doubt they will find us, and I want to be ready."

"Couldn't we explain we aren't K'eyan?" asked Sue, jotting notes into her PADD.

"I don't think they'll believe us, but yes, we'll try diplomacy first. This is the big club we are bringing to the meeting, our new weapon systems." His look now was slightly feral. "The weapons modifications Vorik will be working on during Beta shift were culled from the brains of several of the prisoners this morning. I hope that it will be enough. We have some Borg technology on the Delta Flyer, but I am not Borg and our only Borg is not capable of volunteering. I don't have the knowledge necessary to make our weapons more powerful, hence Vorik will be doing all. You have Seven of Nine's weapons designs from the Delta Flyer, correct?"

Vorik nodded.

"Yes sir."

"Good. If it comes to a fight we can't win, we run. Period. I don't want to leave the crew any more than anyone else, but I won't risk the rest of you either." He looked around the room, reading the agreement.

"I separated the departments to better facilitate the interrogation of the prisoners currently enjoying Voyager's hospitality on the Holodeck." The amusement in the room was slightly malicious, and Tom couldn't say he didn't feel the same. It felt _good_ to have at least some of those who had taken over their crew. "Ayala and I will personally be handling this assignment, with Vorik's help." He looked around the room, noting the expressions. He'd expected some shock, some disapproval. Either they trusted him unquestioningly, or they understood the logic behind what he had chosen to do. Or maybe they saw it as payback for their own abuses by the K'eya in the bodies of their crew. He didn't know. "Vorik will mainly be responsible for the changes in tactical and weapons from this time forward."

"Drills will be started on Gamma shift tonight as soon as Vorik gets the weapons on-line, to prepare for the possibility that the Da'Oon will decide to show. Sue, did you get the new shield modulation calculations I gave you?"

"Sam and I are running simulations now, sir," she answered briefly. "We should be able to implement by Gamma shift if not before."

"Excellent. Any questions?" He hadn't thought there would be, at least until they all had a chance to read his report. "All right. Lieutenant Carey will have the Bridge during Beta shift today. Dismissed."

Sue stood up but didn't leave. Seeing this, the others hastened their way out. Slowly, she walked to the head of the table, looking straight into Toms eyes.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

He shrugged, and her hand came down, hard, on the table, making him wince. _I knew what the reaction would be, how would I feel to hear--_

"I am your First Officer, Acting First Officer, and I--Tom, don't you trust me?" Her face changed, and he saw the anger had hidden hurt. "If we are going to get through this, you have to trust me. This-" she said, fingers brushing the PADD,"-you could have shared." She pulled a chair up and sat down. "Tom...for a minute, let's be friends, not officers, okay?"

He nodded slowly. Surprised there was no horror, no disgust. No disillusionment.

"Tom, did you really think any of us would have a problem with doing this? They're holding our people hostage in their _own minds_, and do you think any of us would stop at _anything _to get them back? If it took thumbscrews and whips, I would do it." She glanced down at her hands, face pale and set. "Sir, I request that I be put in charge of this assignment."

Tom couldn't help it, her switch between formality and informality was charming. He smiled slightly.

"I'm taking it during Beta shift, with Ayala's help, but thank you. I need you on the Bridge." He changed the subject. "Have you gotten any word about how long it will take to get the warp engines back? Lieutenant Carey said he'd given his report to you."

"Joe gave me his report while you were in Sickbay. I can get it to you now. Do you want to read it in here, sir?" She stood up, and they were officers again.

"No, on the Bridge. " He stood up, and followed her out of the room.

* * *

**Day 4 2100 hours - Present Time**

The Doctor was alone, for the first time that day, when Tom appeared in Sickbay. He wasn't surprised when Tom walked in, wearing the face of a man who had crawled through filth, and sighed, to himself. He knew what Tom had been doing since the end of Alpha shift.

"Computer, activate-"

"I'm here, Mr. Paris."

Tom was too exhausted to even turn quickly. He stood, back to the Doctor for a long moment, then turned around. Black circles under bloodshot blue eyes, hard lines around his mouth. Anything he had of careless youth was gone, perhaps irrevocably. And the Holodoc, to his own surprise, somewhere in his subroutines, mourned that loss.

"Can I do something for you?"

Tom nodded slowly, jerkily, and walked to the biobed.

"I need a stimulant." His voice was hoarse.

"I assume we aren't talking about coffee." Tom shook his head, and the Doctor slowly approached the biobed. "You know this is not a good idea."

"If you have a better one, I'm listening." His voice was sharper than the Doctor had ever heard it before.

Truthfully, the Doctor didn't. He would have liked to tell Tom that he should go to bed, sleep, he needed it. He wanted to say that Tom wasn't needed every second, that he could afford to rest, but he didn't. It wasn't true, and of all the people on this ship, the Doctor knew it best. Slowly, he replicated the strongest stimulant he could find and loaded it into the hypospray, then pressed it into Tom's neck.

"The effects will last twenty-four hours at most."

"How long can I take it?" Tom rubbed his neck lightly.

The Doctor tilted his head.

"How long do you need it?"

Seeming more awake, Tom jumped down off the bed, stretching his back reflexively. The Doctor could actually see the energy pour into him, and the lines of his face, while they did not disappear, eased a little.

"Until I can get those parasites out of the crew."

_Parasites. Nice term, though hardly official. Must be something Mr. Paris coined, though I suppose it's as good a term as any._

"I can give you one more injection before worrying about neural decay."

"Humans can go longer than that without sleep." Tom ran his fingers lightly through his hair.

"Humans that aren't using prescription drugs to stay awake, yes. Of course, those humans are usually subject to fits of paranoia and unclear thinking, both of which I assume you wish to avoid. Everyone is different in that respect, Mr. Paris." He put the hypospray away, and Tom began leave. The Doctor stopped him. "How long has it been since you last ate?"

An unguarded expression of bewilderment crossed his face, chased by--anger? Hurt? The Doctor couldn't tell, and it was all sealed up in a neutral expression before the Doctor could interpret.

"A while."

"Stay here. I will replicate you something."

Surprisingly, Tom flushed.

"I can do that..."

"But you won't. I am still Chief Medical Officer on this ship, and I am telling you, you will eat. Come to my office."

Even more surprisingly, Tom obeyed.

Sitting on the other side of the desk opposite the Doctor, Tom ate the tomato soup and sandwich, giving The Doctor a wry smile at the choice of meals. When he was done, the Doctor ran the tricorder over him, to Tom's vocal protests.

"Better. Much better." He closed it and set it aside. "Do you have any new information you wish to share with me?"

Tom looked at the Doctor carefully.

"You know why I don't want to, other than the most necessary."

"Yes, yes, court martial, la te da. Of all the people on this ship, I am probably the only one that wouldn't be affected. I _am_ the only Doctor."

Tom grinned then, and the Doctor felt several subroutines relax in response.

"True, but there are other considerations. You have ethics programming, and I can't afford for you to interfere if that programming snaps into effect regarding my methods."

The Doctor hesitated, not wanting to inquire further as he watched the lines of strain appear again. But he was a doctor, and it was his duty to care for the crew, all of them.

"You could disable the ethics parameters," he said calmly. Tom started, blinked, staring at the Doctor as if he had never seen him before.

"Do _what_?" His voice was edged with utter disbelief.

"Disable the ethics subroutines. I could _try_ to do it myself, but after my last experience with altering my own program, I don't think I want to try _that_ again. In any case, you have the option of using my expertise."

Tom shook his head and smiled, and the Doctor felt himself relax more.

"That's very kind of you, Doc, but you know I wouldn't do that to anyone."

"_Could_ you disable the ethics of someone else? I thought I was the only one programmable."

As jokes went, it was lousy, but Tom chuckled. The Doctor warmed at the sound.

"Nice idea, but no. Thanks for the offer, though."

Tom didn't seem in any hurry to leave, and finally slid a PADD to the Doctor, with the recordings of information received from the prisoners.

"Nothing very new. They say the original hosts of the body are unaware--unconscious, is the way I think they put it. I still haven't found out what happens to the original owners. I don't think they know either. But they get to keep the perks--memories, skills, general knowledge." Tom shook his head. "If they had been better actors they would have gotten away with it, but apparently for some of them this is the first time in a corporeal body and they got a little carried away."

The Doctor read over the report and sat it down to download a copy into his database.

"Mr. Paris..." He stopped, trying to decide how to frame the question he wanted to ask, aware he was facing one of the most skilled manipulators on Voyager, who could easily answer a question without giving an answer at all. "Tom, if I ask this, will you give me an answer that is relevant to the question?" _Honesty occasionally works. Not often, but sometimes._

Tom tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly into blue crescents.

"Yes."

"After you beamed the crew to the planet, there was a fight with the other ships."

Tom nodded.

"How did that happen?"

"Ah." Tom understood now. "You mean, did I pick a fight? Yes. I am guessing you want to know exactly what happened, though, huh?" Tom's eyes darted to the chronometer, then he seemed to settle back in the chair. "This is one of those times I need a drink, but don't say it, alcohol and stims don't mix, especially with command. I know, I learned that. Hope your holomatrix is comfortable, it is actually kind of funny..."

* * *

**Day 3 2045 hours**

_Very lucky for me, that I don't have the time to let the shock wear off._

Tom looked out the viewscreen, standing at tactical, waiting for his crew to return. They didn't disappoint him. In seconds, like a well-oiled machine, they poured out of the turbolift and onto the Bridge, running for positions. Samantha Wildman, however, looked nervous at Ops, and Tom turned to Lieutenant Nicoletti as Baytart took the Conn.

"Sue," he said softly, "we're about to finish this. Go help Sam with Ops, will you?" Louder, "Vorik, how are weapons?"

"Fully charged, sir." _I love Vulcans. Who can't love perfect efficiency and succinctness all in one pointy-eared package?_

"Paris to Carey. You all assembled in engineering yet?"

:::Yes, sir.:::

"Good. We'll need you in a moment. Get ready for some extreme unpleasantness."

Though they had talked about this, knew what they had to do, it was still difficult to actually start firing on quiet alien vessels who did not seem to have hostile intent.

"Shields?" he asked.

"Still at maximum, sir."

He glanced at Susan.

"Hail them."

"Channel open."

Tom took a deep breath. He was about to announce his take-over, and he couldn't help his sense of humor getting itself up, in pure self-defense, he was sure. How many Starfleet officers got the chance to take over an entire ship?

"This is Thomas Paris of the Federation Starship Voyager. You have three minutes to evacuate your crew planetside before we open fire."

He waited. They all waited.

:::Starship Voyager. We will not comply.::: _Succinct as well. I wonder if the Delta Quadrant has its own Vulcans? Nah, that smacked of Borg._ The ship shuddered a little at the impact of fire against their shields. He glanced at Susan, who quickly shook her head.

"No effect, sir."

"How much of our technology did they get?" _Another brilliant idea, free trade with an alien race. Again, what was I thinking not to realize what the hell was going on sooner?_

Susan thought carefully, then glanced at Vorik.

"They have the transporter technology," Tom's heart stopped, "but they haven't installed it yet, if the sensors are correct."

The very concept that any of the Senior Staff might be able to get up on one of those ships via transporter made Tom's blood run cold. _And we definitely don't want them to figure out now how to make transporters work._

He turned to Vorik.

"Fire at will. Target engines and life-support." He felt the feral smile stretch his mouth. "Let's encourage them to our way of thinking."

Vorik obeyed. It wasn't easy to watch the maiming of the ships, but Tom believed in the concept of amputation, and the destruction of those warp-capable ships would go a long way toward assuring him that not one of the crew could get off the planet.

Suddenly, the ship rocked. Tom grabbed at the armrests for support, looking back at Vorik, then at Sue.

"Shields down to 75%." Susan looked pale. "They have photon torpedoes!"

"Wonder where they got those?" Tom said softly. "Vorik, how long until they're disabled?"

"Approximately twenty minutes."

"How long would it take to blow them out of the sky?"

Vorik thought.

"Four minutes, fifteen seconds."

Tom looked around his crew, seeing their expressions, their loyalty, and their conflict. No different than that going on inside himself.

"Their shields are lousy, sir," Susan offered. Tom had an idea.

"Can we beam through it?"

Susan's face lit up.

"Yes sir."

"What is the crew complement on those ships?"

"Sixty people per ship."

Tom calculated. He hit his comm badge decisively.

"Paris to transporter room. I have a job for you..."

* * *

**Day 4 2123 hours - Present Time**

"It was easier to transport everyone off and blow the ships than wait to disable them and then convince them to leave," Tom explained. "We sustained some damage when we modified our shields, but we were lucky they had bad aim and lousy weaponry."

"Why did you consider them a threat?"

Tom started.

"No one told you--no, I guess not. The ships belonged to a race known as the Th'alin, basically scavengers. Think the Delta Quadrant equivalent of Ferengi without the ethics." The Doctor winced. "They agreed to help the K'eyan find and destroy the Da'Oon in exchange for the technology on Voyager. I couldn't take the risk that the K'eya controlled crew would get up into those ships. It would be way too easy for them to take over Voyager. No matter how good the remaining crew is, the senior staff of Voyager is better, and..." he broke off. His knuckles had gone white from clenching on the edge of the desk.. "Too big a risk."

The Doctor could see that.

"After the ships were destroyed, we were able to finish the repairs on the ship. The entities changed the environmental controls quite a bit, did some damage to the warp core. Apparently, they were trying to find a way to detach it for the Th'alin to transport easily, without being too obvious about it and alerting the rest of the crew."

"Is that when you sent Ensign Delaney to look for my program?"

"Yes. She found it by accident, actually. It was hidden in a subsystem..." Tom broke off. Looked at the Doctor.

"Was B'Elanna trying to destroy you or disable you?"

The Doctor shuddered, he couldn't help it.

"Delete, Mr. Paris, though her terminology was quite crude."

Tom stood up, not to leave, but to pace. This was unusual. Tom rarely paced. Usually, he found something useful to do when dealing with excess adrenaline. More efficient.

"That can't be right." Almost to himself.

Now the Doctor looked confused.

"I assure you, Mr. Paris, that is exactly what happened. I was here, I remember."

Tom shook his head slowly, and when the Doctor saw his face, there was something there, the expression just dawning, not quite able to put his finger on it--

"Doc, the parasite had the knowledge to delete your program. Why didn't she? Why hide it?" Tom's demands were rhetorical, and The Doctor caught the direction of Tom's thoughts quickly.

"My matrix was badly damaged..."

"But fixable." Tom straightened. "Do you have a baseline for B'Elanna on file from her last physical?"

"Yes..."

"Excellent." Tom smiled, and the Doctor recognized the sudden hope, relief. At the same moment, he realized what Tom was about to do.

"You are going to beam her up." Holographic voices were apparently not meant to convey disbelief. His tenor voice hit soprano. Tom's smile became a heady grin.

"Uh-huh. Doc, whatever it is, she's fighting it! Somehow, she didn't delete you, but I believe the parasite thinks it did. She got around it."

"No other crewmember has." He tried and failed to keep the hope out of his own voice.

"Maybe they have, but we didn't have the proof." Tom shook his head. He tapped his comm badge even as he jogged out of Sickbay, calling for Vorik. The Doctor watched him go, then resigned himself to finding B'Elanna's baseline scans.

Organic lifeforms could be so demanding.


	3. The Slow Slide Down

**Day 3 1400 hours**

Filthy, crawling through her mind, leaving tendrils of cold thought like slime, heavy and clammy, dampening her own thoughts, her own being, violating her mind, sifting through her memories, mocking them--

B'Elanna watched Tom walk into her quarters, glancing around the dark living room. She could see over Harry's back, between the moans and sighs, the movement of his body. Her eyes were open, had to see it all.

He paused at the door, not quite letting it close behind him, hesitating to invade her privacy, even with the suspicions, the _knowledge_ her parasite knew he had. B'Elanna knew this had been planned, for him to see this. She had come back up to the ship when Harry called--_ordered_\--her up.

One last chance to get the only remaining senior officer to go down voluntarily. Though the parasite knew why, B'Elanna herself had no idea what this would accomplish. _Keep away from that planet, Tom._ She could only hope it would keep him from the planet, the shock of what he would see now. For that reason alone she did not go insane with what her body was forced to do. _Stay here. Be safe. Get away, Tom. Please._

Slowly, he walked into her living area, and she heard herself moan louder, catching his attention. His head turned sharply towards the sound, and she saw the disbelief, the _incredulity_ in his face, as he came slowly to the door, not wanting to see what he knew he would see, what he would _know,_ once he walked to her door. She couldn't keep the next scream from coming, louder, more obvious, driving the knife in deeper.

Harry rolled onto his back, taking her with him, and she braced her hands on his shoulders--_my hands? Kahless, make this stop_\--no privacy, no way to fight, no place to hide, she experienced it all as her body rode him, as her body responded, as the thing within her laughed and enjoyed both the pleasure Harry gave her and her own horror at what she was forced to do.

She could still see him. It _wanted_ her to see him and to suffer; it _liked_ her pain. Harry had turned them both so she faced the door, had to watch his approach. her eyes refused to look away and her body refused to curl up in shame. She watched him come to the door, the blue eyes look into hers--

...and _felt_ the smile curving her lips, brown eyes locked with blue. Watched the way his face did not move, yet changed, as she moaned again, and Harry levered himself to sit up, one hand roughly in her hair, pulling her down for a kiss--

\--her eyes locked with Tom's until Harry blocked her sight--

_\--and it liked how she felt._

When she lifted her head, he was gone. Her climax hit and Harry was rolling her onto her back, covering her, forcing her deeper into the mattress. She screamed his name.

Not Harry's name.

Tom's.

* * *

**Day 5 0800 hours - Present Time**

"You're crazy." Sue's voice was utterly flat. Tom, under other circumstances, would have agreed. But his mind was already running with the idea, desperate, perhaps, to believe. To have found a way.

"You know we can't risk one of the senior staff up here. Hell, even Captain Janeway would be safer than B'Elanna! She's an engineer, she knows everything about this ship. Damnit, Tom, she wrote the virus that we used to take control! Okay, she didn't write the whole thing, but I saw it, and her fingerprints are all over it."

"Yeah, she taught me well." Tom could be very patient when he was certain he would win. He sat back on the couch, studying Sue, looking for a weak spot, the place he could put the lever in and push, to make her agree. A smile played around his mouth, placed there by his knowledge that he would win.

She recognized that smile.

Sue knew her approach wasn't working and jumped to logistics.

"How will we separate her from the others?"

Tom grinned, and her stomach sank, knowing he had this planned out. Hell, he probably had the whole thing already meticulously detailed in his mind, perfectly coordinated so nothing would go wrong. He was a _good_ planner. It was the one place she couldn't fight him on, the Plan. Tom had one, very possibly a fool-proof one, and there was nothing in it she would be able to pick apart. Damn it.

"Just beam her up, directly to the holodeck. Pick up her genetic code, and we're done." _Does he sound smug?_

"We don't have a sample of her..." She was grasping at straws and knew it. Worse, so did he. But he humored her

"We don't need one. She has an original on file in Sickbay. The parasite didn't change her entire genome, it couldn't have. And there is only one half-Klingon on the planet, you know."

Sue shook her head slowly, not exactly negating, not agreeing, just needing something to do so she could think. _Maybe stall._

It was only an hour ago that she had gotten the story from Carey about what B'Elanna had done to him in Engineering. _Black eye my ass._ And though a part of her _knew_ that it wasn't B'Elanna that had done those terrible things, it was still hard to believe it. Hard because of the nature of the parasite, that could use their memories, their experience. Their lives against them.

Tom, as always, could follow the track of her thoughts on her face. That may have been one of the reasons she had never wanted more than a casual relationship with him; that uncanny ability disturbed her. It had made him a good pilot, a good friend, and an incredible lover, but it left little in the way of secrets.

"Sue, you know it's not them, not really." His voice was incredibly gentle. He took her hand, patting it gently.

"I know." A thready whisper.

He stood up and walked to the large window, a habit she'd observed in Captain Janeway and apparently, either consciously or unconsciously, had been adopted by Tom.

"When we get them back--and _we will_\--do you think you can still obey the Captain?"

"Of course."

"Talk to Harry? Eat lunch with your friends? Stay with your lover?"

She flushed and looked away. Tom understood instantly, and was annoyed he hadn't sooner.

"Did you see him with someone else? The K'eya chose--well, some of them were, for lack of a better term, bonded to each other, and that's what caused the random pairings." He shrugged slightly. "Random to us, anyway. You have to know he would never betray you."

Sue glanced up, quickly, then out to the nebula outside.

"Do _you_?" she whispered softly.

For a brief moment, something crossed his face, something she had not seen before, and she shivered.

"Yes." It was definite, certain. Sue nodded with him.

"And Harry?"

Every muscle in Tom's jaw tightened for the briefest moment, then relaxed as he asserted control.

"I hope so." An admission she had not thought he would make. He sat down. "This is _not_ what I want to talk about."

"But is it something you've thought about, Tom? Seriously, when we get them back--I have faith we can do this, I have faith in you--how will the rest of the crew respond to them? Zephyr, Megan, me, you, Carey..."

"Carey?" Sharply. She cursed herself and pushed on, ignoring the implicit question.

"Tom, what will happen?" She clasped her hands in her lap to still the shaking, meeting his eyes. "How will we go back? I saw the Captain hit Zephyr, Megan saw Gerron with her sister...and you saw Harry and B'Elanna in the conference room. For you, perhaps, it wasn't quite as bad..."

She stopped speaking. Two feet from her, and he was as good as gone, expression carefully blank, the hands clasped behind him tightening visibly.

_He knew. He walked into that room knowing what he would see there. How the hell did he do that?_

"Yeah." A whisper. She stopped herself from asking the question. What he had seen.

"What about them, when they get back?" she asked, wanting him to come back, wanting to distract him from whatever demons haunted his lone hours...glad, so glad, for once, that she had never been in love, so she didn't have to feel what he felt.

It worked, the blue eyes returning to her as if they had never left.

"To be honest, I'm trying not to worry about that yet," he answered. "If it's true, that they are unconscious, then perhaps they won't remember..." he trailed off, aware that they didn't know. They just didn't have enough information to be sure what the crew would remember about their experiences controlled by the K'eya.

"How will we trust them?" she whispered, and Tom gave her a sharp look.

"How did you trust me, Sue, when you met me? How did you trust me when we took the ship?"

She flushed.

"That was different." She couldn't meet his eyes then.

"Was it?" Softly. Tom had never discussed with her, or anyone, their semi-relationship after it had ended--well, maybe with B'Elanna, but Sue couldn't be sure. She didn't particularly want to, either. "How different?"

"In the beginning, Captain Janeway trusted you enough to give you a commission, make you a senior officer..." she trailed off, knowing she was explaining this badly. Couldn't find the words; the only ones, the truth, would do no good now.

But Tom understood instantly. A small grin appeared, a bitter grin, instantly becoming her commanding officer, not her friend.

"Vorik and I will consult on the best method of keeping Lieutenant Torres incarcerated. You have the Bridge. If I'm needed, I'll be in Holodeck 2." At her weak nod, he turned smartly on his heel and was gone.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid! _ She leaned against the table for a moment. He'd never asked why she had invited him to her bed. Never wanted to know, perhaps never cared. Back then, when he was so new and a little lonely, and she was too, and just wanted someone who could keep it casual. _And he certainly did that. Very casual. But always fun, always enthusiastic, always very, very good..._

She pushed those thoughts aside, aware that their friendship had suffered a blow. Maybe not a mortal one, but definitely a blow that would take time to recover from. Now was not the time to try to fix her blunder, her own tacit admittance that she _hadn't_ trusted him that time they were together. She had used him, just as then she had thought he used her--until she knew him better, knew him as more than the former Maquis pilot, the convict.

As a man she liked. As a friend.

Then, it had been too late to have him as a lover too. She'd never realized just how much she'd regretted that, until now.

She straightened, turning her face to the door, carrying herself as the officer she was, and went out to the Bridge.

* * *

**Day 5 0900 hours - Present Time**

Tom had tried not to think about what had happened in B'Elanna's quarters those long two days ago. Now it was back, no way to fight it, ignore it. Just remember it, every hellish second.

_Thanks, Sue._

That was unfair, but he wasn't feeling particularly fair. Now that it was lodged in his mind, he couldn't escape it, the memory. The feeling.

The implacable, cold anger that kept him able to torture fellow crewmembers without a second thought. When he looked in the mirror now, he saw something disturbingly familiar, something he'd thought he'd left behind in a Federation prison--_rehab colony, Tommy-boy_\--along with an anklet they'd used to monitor him there. Shed like an old skin, to be something better.

Perhaps he'd always known, somehow, that it would come back. That coldness that let him do _anything_ that had to be done, no matter how filthy, no matter how low. _I never thought I'd agree with you on something, Dad. But irredeemable definitely applies here._ He kept his face expressionless, his step light and firm. No one could have guessed his thoughts. If they had--_Well, that would be inconvenient for them, I am in charge of this ship. Dad, you'd have an apoplexy if you could see what I am doing in the name of Starfleet._

B'Elanna. Dear God, B'Elanna. He locked his jaw, fighting the intense desire to hit the wall with one closed fist, just to get rid of some of the anger. He would channel that anger later, watching with uncomfortable glee as the imprisoned crew writhed under IS117's influence while he asked the endless questions, holding the antidote in one perfectly still hand. Where they could see it, know that relief was within their grasp, if only they told him what he wanted to know.

He wondered what Ayala thought when he watched Tom performing the interrogations. Wondered if he even wanted to know. Then wondered why he cared.

B'Elanna.

_That smile._

Yet, for some reason, his feet took him back to her room, and he punched in the sequence quickly, before he changed his mind. He walked in, not caring what kind of etiquette or regulations he was violating; he had certainly performed enough crimes that a simple invasion of privacy seemed rather tame. Kind of nice, actually. He walked into the bedroom.

Her bed was still unmade.

He could remember it all, especially the smile, that vicious smile that had stopped him cold, had frozen him. For what had seemed an eternity, he had wanted to kill Harry Kim, his best friend, once his only friend. Kill him, watch him die, and stomp over the remains with fierce satisfaction, with _pleasure._ Tom didn't like that part of himself, had kept it well occupied for the last five years by engaging it in less homicidal pursuits. Piloting. Rock-climbing. Martial arts. Any sport that would exhaust his body, his mind, and purge the aggressive instincts for the moment, control them as he controlled every other aspect of his life. Impulsive he was, but never, since setting foot on Voyager, in circumstances where impulsiveness was unwise.

B'Elanna had been the first impulse of his new life that he hadn't tamped down, killed on contact, locked away until he could forget it. The first time he had willingly lost control of his life, unable to help it, stop it, finally stopped _wanting_ control over it, glad to give it up, hand over everything he felt, everything he was, to the control of someone else. Become vulnerable. _And where has that gotten me? Breaking into her quarters. Yeah, you've changed so much, Tommy boy._

On Voyager, he had learned the finest points of self-discipline, never wanting to return to being the man he had been those years after Caldik Prime, before prison, before the Maquis even. One who had done things he still couldn't think of without a shudder, who had forgotten everything he had ever known about honor, about morality. A man who sold the skills he had to the highest bidder, then had learned new, less savory skills to sell for even more. _And how ironic I have to use them here. For Starfleet. Fate, God, Q--whatever force decided this has a decidedly unpleasant sense of humor._

He couldn't erase the past. He'd always known that. He'd confessed to the Caldik Prime incident for that reason. He'd accepted the early derision of the crew for that reason.

Hell, he had accepted a lot of things for that reason. You couldn't change some things. Memories. Actions. Words spoken.

Maybe you couldn't change who you are, either. Beneath the uniform he wore, he hadn't changed, not really. The same Tom Paris who'd lied at Caldik Prime to save his career. The same Tom Paris who'd sold himself for alcohol. Nothing changed, not really.

Staring at the bed, taking in the rumpled sheets, he allowed himself to relive the entire sequence of events, the smile, the way she moved, the way Harry had touched her.

He wanted to kill them again. Enjoy watching it slow and easy. _That_ would be closure.

Unfortunately for him, non-corporeal lifeforms were exceedingly hard to kill. So far. _Not for much longer, little K'eya. Your time is running out._

He wanted them dead, all of them. But not for what they had done to him. Not even for what they had done to the crew, though he hated them for that.

What they had done to B'Elanna, forced her do, feel, _experience_. Smear her with that kind of filth, making her live that long nightmare. For that alone, they were forfeit. Fuck the Prime Directive and fuck Starfleet, he didn't care what it took, what he had to do, he would do it. Get her free.

_Even if it turns out that everything I said during our fight is true, it doesn't matter. I love her. I don't care if she was using me, I don't care if she doesn't love me, or if she did and doesn't anymore. I love her. I'll get her out of this, and every damned one of them will pay. Whatever she chooses to do about us afterward, if there even is an us, that doesn't matter. She matters._

He looked at the sheets for another long moment, then stripped them off the bed, tossing them into the recycler with a great deal of satisfaction. When she came back here, when she walked in this room, it should be ready for her. No reminders of what she couldn't control. _For that matter, no visible reminders for me, either. Kind of cathartic, actually. Closure on a less grand scale._

Turning to the replicator, he ordered new sheets, then carefully made her bed, pulling up the bedspread, fluffing the pillows. He did it automatically, having done it many times before. Slowly, he went through her quarters, straightening the mess that the parasite had made of them, picking her clothes back up. Somehow the activity calmed him, such a normal thing for him to do, cleaning her room.

Before he left, he noticed her console was on, and went over to touch it off. Then he realized what it was, and ducked down, sitting in her small chair, shifting to get comfortable. He checked the time index. _It's been on since the first time she went to the planet. Damn, she must have been distracted, to forget to turn it off._ An idea came to him, and he tapped in a few commands, listening for her voice, wondering if the parasite had said something, _anything_ he could use, in an unguarded moment.

After ten minutes, he heard it, and for another ten minutes he sat there, mind slightly blank. Slowly, he shut down the log and got up, going to her bathroom to look in the mirror, bracing himself for what he was about to do. Wondering, rather inanely, whether she would ever look at him again, whether the chocolate brown eyes would ever light up when they rested on him, whether...he stopped himself. It didn't matter. Not in the big picture, so to speak. He turned the faucet on and splashed some water on his face, rubbing it dry with a towel.

When he was done, he let himself out, and walked to his own room. As quickly as he could, he took a shower, and changed his uniform, preparing himself for what he was about to do.

Then, very slowly, he took out the hypospray from below the sink. Stared at it for a few minutes, studying the color. _You know this isn't a good idea, right?_

Yeah. I know. When have I been famous for my good sense, hmm?

The stimulant was already loaded in, an alternate version of the one the Doctor had given him. He was a medic, he knew the long-term effects of stimulants. He was also a programmer, and knew how to get the replicator to give him what he wanted, since he knew the Doctor wouldn't. Vorik's program, of course, helped with that. He tapped the hypospray lightly into his palm for a moment, then set it against his neck, feeling the cool rush of air as he released it into his bloodstream. He could judge to a hair exactly how much was safe to take, knew he was treading that edge now.

He hadn't always been so careful. Since those days, he had learned.

In the hall, he paused. Stared down the hall, body reacting fast to the stimulant, giving him energy, removing the lethargy that led to his more introspective mood swings. A side effect of prolonged use, he reminded himself, mood swings. As he thought of B'Elanna, however, he shuddered slightly. He straightened his back, raising his head, ignoring the sudden tension in the pit of his stomach.

Whatever it took.

* * *

**Day 5 1500 hours - Present Time**

The Doctor was already ready in Holodeck Two, having been briefed by Tom a few hours before. He knew what he was here to do, after which he would be dismissed from the room. He understood Tom's reasoning, that ethical subroutines were a bitch to get around, and Tom didn't want to have to fight the K'eya and the Doctor over his methods.

It was a good representation of the Brig, and the Doctor was impressed. Each prisoner believed himself or herself to be alone; with all the careful manipulation Tom had done on sound and sight, he had made sure of it. What the Doctor liked a great deal less was the odd smile on Tom's face after these sessions. Chemical coercion was not a particularly cruel method of retrieving information, and the Doctor knew that few Captains in Starfleet would be above it if it involved the common good of their crew, but it still hit his ethical button every time. The Doctor had decided not to ask about it, simply ignored the crewmen Tom periodically sent to Sickbay to replenish supplies that they couldn't or wouldn't replicate. That way, he could pretend he had no idea what Tom was doing to assure cooperation.

The one bit of information Tom hadn't been able to extract was how to get the K'eya out of their host bodies. Even the K'eya didn't know this, and it had taken some time before Tom had been satisfied this was true. The Doctor shied from that thought. B'Elanna, however, could change everything, if Tom was correct, and the Doctor was hoping, almost praying, that he was correct.

It was all they had left. Everything else the Doctor had explored had failed. They knew so _little_ about lifeforms like this. Ones who bio-formed bodies instinctively, took minds and memories.

Ayala was waiting beside the empty cell that would house B'Elanna Torres during her incarceration, and the Doctor decided to take a look at it. It was large, enough at least to hold her and her interrogators _don't think like that_ and it had a bunk. Nothing else. Pretty much like the real brig.

Not for the first time, he wished that this could be done in Sickbay, but the Doctor understood Tom's reasoning. The parasite could do too much damage if it got loose, with the mind and physical strength of B'Elanna Torres. So Tom had written in the biobed that was now sitting just outside the Brig, waiting for the beam-in to proceed.

:::Paris to Ayala.:::

Ayala touched his badge.

"Ayala here, sir."

:::Ten seconds on my mark. Mark.:::

Ayala unslung the phaser rifle, considerably disrupting the Doctor's equilibrium. Vorik appeared from around the corner, apparently also having also received a message, and brought his rifle down. Ayala's look of fierce concentration was a study of contrasts to Vorik's cool impassivity. At any other time, the Doc would have considered the contrast amusing.

In his mind, the Doctor counted the seconds, and finished 'one' just as a swirl of bright light appeared in the cell. Vorik, nearest the door, hit the switch that activated the forcefield while Ayala covered him, then stepped back, raising the rifle to point at the slender figure in the cell.

It was indeed B'Elanna, with a look of unmistakable shock twisting her face.

The first thing she did, very typically B'Elanna, was throw herself against the forcefield. She bounced back, angrily righted herself, and looked at her captors. Only seconds later, Tom materialized outside the cell, a look of smug satisfaction on his face.

"Welcome back to Voyager." The smug look was added to by an unendearing smirk as he pulled a chair from somewhere and sat down. Ayala and Vorik were on either side of him, rifles still drawn. B'Elanna got as close to the forcefield as she dared, meeting the mocking blue eyes with enraged brown.

"I knew you'd make trouble," she hissed. "B'Elanna's memories were quite clear. I _told_ them you would try to stop us."

"I didn't just try, I succeeded. Don't look so put out, I had tons of help. Your people have definitely pissed off of our crew, you know."

"We are your crew," she smirked, crossing her arms across her chest. "In every way that matters."

"No, you're not." He pointed to the stance. "B'Elanna never slumps."

A look of outrage passed over her face, followed by a curiously blank expression. Tom took advantage of her distraction and motioned the Doctor over.

"You and the biobed can go straight through," he said. "Give me your holoemitter, you don't need it here, and I won't take the chance she'll get hold of it." He waited as the Doctor nodded, removing the emitter, and turned his face back to the woman in the cell, standing unnaturally still, not like B'Elanna at all. Watching him with an expression of intense concentration.

"You miss her, don't you?" He already knew what to expect from this creature, was prepared for anything she could say. Tom smiled.

"She knows the answer to that question."

"Did you like what you saw? Her and--his name is Harry, correct?" She seemed to see something in his face, no matter how hard he tried to control his expression. "Her body responded so naturally to his touch. Were they close before--well, before us?"

_That_ smile. Slow and cruel. It couldn't hurt him. _Much, anyway._ Not now, not after what he had heard in the logs she had not turned off. The parasite had forgotten to end them, left them running. Stupid.

"And _that's_ why you yelled my name?"

The creature stiffened, and again, the blank expression. The Doctor was behind the holographic biobed that he had programmed personally, pushing it into the cell. The parasite found she couldn't stop him--and being a hologram, he moved even faster than she did here. He was able to hypospray and get her on the bed with only a few lighting-fast motions. He used the tricorder and the holographic display of the sickbay monitor to run the tests and study the results. His face changed. He ran them again, then again, frowning each time, until his expression finally relaxed.

"You were right," he said to Tom, loading all the information into the tricorder.

"Take her off the bed." As the Doctor complied, Tom had the biobed dissolved, and the Doctor walked out, carrying the readings.

"What's the difference?"

The Doctor couldn't stop the grin.

"The half-Klingon." The smile grew wider. "More precisely, the half part. They seemed to have a problem making the physiological changes stick because she is a fusion of two different humanoid species." He tapped a few commands into the PADD while Tom kept his eyes on the woman in the brig's narrow bunk. "The changes fluctuated, even while I was reading them. A constant battle for control over the body. Without the physiological modifications, the entity can't keep control."

"Would that be true for all those of mixed species?"

"I would say yes, unless the two species are more naturally compatible. I would need more information."

"Unfortunately, we don't have a lot of mixed species on the ship, unless it's by removes of several generations," Tom mused. "So they are dependent on the physical changes. I was told that, but I wanted to make sure. How long could they survive in a non-altered host?"

"Again, I need more research to know for sure, but I don't think very long at all."

"I'll kill her first." She was sitting up, eyes blazing.

Tom tilted his head slightly, studying her. A cool, impersonal look of calculation.

"That's a laugh. You can't even keep her physiology from fluctuating, so I doubt you have the bio-control to end her life. And that certainly wouldn't be very practical of you. What will you do for a host?"

"I can find another." Her defiance was amusing. Tom kept his grin in place.

"But you can't survive off the planet without a host, can you?" he answered pleasantly, hoping that was true, that the Ricarla parasite, all the parasites, had not lied. "And--let me see--I find myself doubting you can just transfer from body to body like that. I bet it takes more than just a quick leap." Mocking now. He _knew_ exactly what it took for them to do that. If those infected crewmembers hadn't lied.

Her eyes narrowed, mouth opening, but no words came out.

_It's true._

He felt himself breathe again, not letting her see his relief, his light-headed excitement. He decided it was time to push. She beat him to it.

"You want her back." Searching for a weak spot.

"Yes." Nothing more needed to be said. He waited for her to respond. He could almost see her looking for a way to twist this to her advantage.

"You wouldn't hurt her."

"I wouldn't have to. You said she was unconscious within her own body. I could pull out the thumbscrews and she wouldn't know, and I even have the nice Doctor here to fix up whatever I break." He nodded amiably at the Doctor, who found his holographic stomach had just cartwheeled. _Do I know this man? Did I ever?_ "You don't like pain, do you? Your colleagues certainly don't." She seemed to pale, and it pleased him. "I would never hurt her." He leaned forward a little, resting his elbows on his knees, looking straight into her eyes. Smiled. "But I would enjoy hurting you."

"She's not fully unconscious." It seemed to be trapped. Tom liked that.

"Yeah, I know. The Doctor's still alive, after all, isn't he? It makes me wonder why you took the time to deactivate him in the first place." He gave her another smile. "What scared you so badly that you would try to kill him off?"

She stood up, approaching the forcefield.

"She doesn't love you. She's using you. Everything you said to her is true." Naked desperation. "You know I'm right. You said it yourself!"

Tom's smile never changed.

"It doesn't matter. She matters."

He stood up, walking towards the forcefield, waving Ayala and Vorik back, close enough so that only she could hear. His voice was low.

"There is nothing I would stop at, nothing I would scruple against, to get her back, do you understand?" He looked straight into the brown eyes without flinching. "You were stupid, you let yourselves lose your discipline, act out of character, instead of playing it safe until you got all the crew down to that planet. I am not stupid. You have something I want, the crew of this ship, and you hurt her. Unless you get the hell out of her, the hell out of all the crew, you _will_ die, and I don't care how I have to do it." His eyes narrowed, his voice dropping lower. "Do you understand me?"

He knew she believed him. She was intimidated, eyes huge and dark, mouth slightly ajar. B'Elanna was never intimidated. Ever. He backed away, keeping his eyes on her until he sat back down, having offered her the only deal he would accept. One chance.

"Your choice."


	4. Justify the Means

**Two weeks later: 1400 hours - Present Time**

"And that is the sequence of events leading up to the physical exam of Lieutenant Torres?" asked Captain Janeway, perched in her chair uncomfortably. _Is this room hot?_ She tried not to pull at her uniform: beneath it, she was beginning to sweat.

No one else looked overheated. She shifted once, leaning her chin on one elbow, shifted again.

It wasn't environmental controls, she knew that. It was her.

Tom was seated at the other end of the table, surrounded by his co-conspirators. He nodded shortly, eyes meeting hers without evasion and with utter confidence.

_ Much like he was when I reduced his rank for the Monean incident_ , she thought. Perfectly cool. Perfectly in control. A Starfleet officer to the tips of each finger, even in the relaxed yet alert attitude he showed her, showed all the Senior Staff. They were meeting today in the conference room to hear the sequence of events leading to their "awakening" so to speak, the week before. This was the third day of the Inquiry, and everyone was emotionally drained, forced to listen to Tom coolly recited the events of that lost week.

She still shuddered from the memories. Those first hours, the knowledge of what she had done while infected began to seep into her conscious mind, dreamy, intangible, but undeniable. She couldn't look at her First Officer, nor at any of her Senior Staff at all; each glance resurrected a new memory or reinvigorated an older one, and it hurt. So she focused on Tom, on what had happened while she--

_ Don't think like that. Don't. Not now. We have too much to do right now to indulge in memory catch-up._

"For the record, Mr. Paris, please answer my question with a yes or a no." She winced internally, hearing how harsh she sounded, and chased her statement with a quick smile to remove the sting. The group surrounding Tom, however, did not respond to the smile. Sam's eyes narrowed, her hands, clasped together on the table, tightened perceptibly, until the strain of tendons through pale flesh was clearly visible. Ayala's frown darkened, and Sue's look of attention became more hostile.

Tom had earned their loyalty.

_ Well, it would be hard to pull off a mutiny without it. They have as much to lose as he does here._

That thought was unfair and she knew it. Not one of them had come in here expecting to be let off the hook, none had tried to deny their roles in what had occurred, from the original mutiny to the chemical torture of infected fellow crewmen. Tom had deflected attention from their actions as best he could, but Janeway was certain she had never witnessed a group of people so eager to share the blame.

And there was already so much to go around.

Chakotay stirred beside her, and she returned her gaze to Tom.

"Yes, Captain, that is the sequence of events up to the exam of Lieutenant Torres," he answered calmly, never looking away.

Tom had been here before, and she desperately wished it did not have to be like this, that he had to be called again to a reckoning. How many times can a single person go through this kind of inquiry, and still believe in themselves as much as Tom did? She swallowed, trying to make her voice more mellow, easier on the ears. Not so condemning, not making the crew wince with her every word.

She glanced around at the other officers present, taking in their expressions. Chakotay looked slightly distant. Seven was as blank and cool as always, only the long-fingered hands, twisted together in her lap, betraying her own inner demons. Neelix, no longer a bundle of cheery energy, but had turned quiet, introspective. Even Tuvok, always impassive, no difference now, except for the slightest ashy color beneath the dark skin.

And Harry. She winced every time she looked at him, she couldn't help it. Golden skin sallow, eyes haunted. Under pressure, he had always been full of nervous energy, yet here, he seemed drained, head down.

Never looking at Tom.

She remembered, unwillingly, the first day of the Inquiry, when Tom and his cohorts first entered the room, and Tom's blank expression had cracked on seeing Harry--just for the briefest moment, something had shown, something...unhealed? Still raw? Then the clear blue eyes darkened, and he had turned away, taking a seat. Sue was immediately beside him, and Janeway had watched with interest as she, too, seemed uncomfortable when she saw Harry.

And B'Elanna, for that matter.

_ No. Not now. I can't afford to lose perspective now._ She cleared her mind, focusing on the task at hand.

"And after the examination?"

Tom leaned forward on his elbows, looking around the room before meeting her eyes again.

"The Doctor took the results to Sickbay to work on a way to remove the K'eya from those infected."

How could he be so calm, when she felt as if she would break out of her skin? An aftereffect of the K'eya, she knew, and took several calm breaths.

B'Elanna, to her left, was so unnaturally still it made her even more jumpy. The lieutenant's head was up, her hands clasped in her lap, seemingly attentive, but the brown eyes were focused on something far away. Not once had she looked at Tom; not when he entered, not when he answered a question, not even through his description of her examination.

B'Elanna may have fared the worst under the K'eyan infection. Her body had not accepted the physical changes, so her parasite had not been able to take control completely. While B'Elanna had not been able to do very much to help herself, she had been witness, a conscious witness, to everything the K'eya did, everything the K'eya said, and everything that had been done to her.

Everything done, both by and to her. Harry. Tom. Her two closest friends, one her lover, both the causes and witnesses of her ordeal.

Janeway had debated asking what had been done to remove the parasite while B'Elanna was present, knowing the young woman had the intense memories of the procedure, which had not been pleasant. But she had to know and turned to B'Elanna.

"If you want to leave during the next part--" But B'Elanna was already shaking her head, slowly, apparently willing to listen to Tom explain what the Doctor had discovered. A quick glance at Chakotay's set face, then at the other members of the staff, and Janeway turned back to Tom.

"At this time, we would like you to describe the procedure by which you removed the parasite from the body of Lieutenant Torres."

It was the first time Janeway had seen Tom react during the Inquiry. He paled, glancing shortly at B'Elanna, then quickly, back to the Captain, and she saw something flicker in the blue eyes. Sue placed her hand over his clasped ones, and he met her eyes for a moment, as if to draw strength. He nodded, almost to himself, then let out a breath and spoke.

"It was four hours after the Doctor removed to Sickbay to review the results that he contacted me on the Bridge..."

* * *

**Day 5 1900 hours - Two weeks earlier**

Tom ran into sickbay at a full sprint, practically sliding into a stop in front of the nonplussed group of scientists surrounding the Doctor. It was an endearingly boyish action that brought smiles to many of the otherwise solemn faces. He blazed a cocky grin in their direction, but his eyes were on the Doctor.

"You found a way?"

The Doctor nodded briefly, but Tom could tell he was far more excited than he let on. But--Tom had learned to read the Doctor like a book, and knew there was something about this that would not be so pleasant. He waited while the Doctor dismissed the group to their separate pursuits, and led Tom silently into his office. He surprised Tom by closing the door and initiating the privacy lock, further irritating Tom's suspicions. Tom waited, standing in front of the desk, until the Doctor sat down, motioning him to sit too.

After an endlessly long look from Doctor, Tom finally asked again.

"You found a way to remove the parasites from the crew?" He was treated to the unique spectacle of the Doc nervous, absently playing with a spare PADD, fiddling with his uniform collar, finally settling both hands on the desk, tightly clasped, and fixing Tom with another long look.

It made Tom nervous.

"Spit it out. What did you find?"

"There is a way to remove them," he said slowly. "Rather easily, actually, once the physiological changes are reversed." He paused again, as if searching for words.

Tom's irritation took a leap into actual fear.

"The drug you gave to the crewmembers during interrogation--"

"IS117." Tom didn't like where this was going.

"An illegal drug of Cardassian manufacture," the Doctor said softly. "In the doses you gave, it had certain properties relating to the crew's physical responses, did it not? It made them willing to talk--" he trickled off. He had not seen Tom conduct the interrogations, had not wanted to, but needed to know now. Had to know if he was correct.

"Yes." Shortly, and the blue eyes darkened to indigo, his face becoming professional, blocking out whatever thoughts and memories tortured him during his private hours. "Convulsions, erratic heartbeat, hypertension, adrenaline spikes, endorphin drops--"

"Pain responses."

"Yes." Even more short, the word spit out, hanging between them, and the Doctor took a moment, letting Tom regain control. When he did, the Doctor continued.

"You ordered Ayala to bring me the medical vitals of Crewman Ricarla from one interrogation."

"Yes. She was the original test subject after we found the correct drug. Ayala brought the results to you when you asked." Very professional, voice clipped and calm.

"During the interrogations, the entity seems to have--some difficulty keeping connected to the host body."

Tom's face drained of what little color still remained.

"Does that mean the crew could remember--"

"What I am most worried about," the Doc jumped in, "is the length of time we have between the repair to the physiology of the crew and the administration of the drug." He watched Tom carefully. In his heart, he knew, as few did, just how much a scientist the young man was, and how easy it was to forget that, given Tom's reputation and personality. Give him a mystery he had some personal interest in and there was no stopping him. This was one of those times.

Doc had no intention, however, of letting Tom know that there was a real possibility the crew had perhaps become "conscious" during those times. They simply needed him too badly right now.

"So what happens during those times of drug administration?" asked Tom. He hadn't forgotten it, but he was distracted. That was a good thing.

"During those times, the entity has to struggle to keep in touch with the body. If higher doses were administered, for a longer period of time--" he trailed off, seeing Tom's face.

"You want me to torture them to death?" His voice was calm, expressionless--the Doctor was disturbed by the coolness in his voice. _He's changed._ And the words he used, the harshest possible. Tom leaned back, crossing his arms across his chest. Eyes narrowing, studying the Doctor carefully.

"The crewmembers weren't permanently damaged, were they?" the Doc said desperately, retreating into curtness to hide his own horror in what he suggested.

Tom blinked, staring at him.

"No." Softly. "No, Cardassians didn't want damaged prisoners when they used that particular drug. They wanted them broken."

"I've run several simulations," the Doctor continued quickly. "Now all we need is a test subject." The Doctor kept his eyes on the PADD. Tom stood up, walking to the replicator to get a glass of water. His hand was steady.

"A subject."

Their eyes met, knowing who would have to be used.

* * *

**1452 hours - Present Time**

Tom paused, and by his elbow appeared a glass of water. Gratefully, he took a sip, giving Sue a smile for the thought, and glad, too, his hands had something to do. He tried to relax the muscles in his back and neck, they had begun to tense badly, and would probably grow even worse before he was done.

"So you decided to use the procedure the Doctor outlined?" Janeway asked. For the record.

"Yes." Tom put the glass down on the table, but his long fingers drummed lightly against its surface. A characteristic gesture; Tom was famous for his inability to sit still. His face was turned away for a moment.

Janeway wondered how much more he could say. How much more she could listen to.

It was quiet for a long time. Finally, a voice broke the silence.

"Finish it, Tom."

His head came up sharply, and all eyes went to B'Elanna, who no longer seemed to be in another dimension altogether. Her small hands rested on the tabletop, brown eyes were fixed on Tom, her expression intense.

Janeway sucked in an audible breath while Chakotay found something on the table to fix his gaze on. No one else seemed able to look away, watching with a kind of sick fascination as B'Elanna and Tom stared at each other, almost daring the other to look away first. A long, breathless moment, and Tom closed his eyes, breaking the lock. Sue moved the water when he motioned at it, which surprised him as much as anybody. _First officers really are empathic. _ The thought should have amused him, broken the terrible tension in him, but it didn't, it merely added to it. He braced himself.

And continued.

* * *

**Day 6 0800 hours - Two weeks earlier**

"Mr. Paris?"

Tom held the carefully prepared hypospray in one hand, staring into space, then shook his head sharply.

"All right." He hit his comm badge. "Paris to Ayala. Are you ready?"

:::Ayala here. Yes, sir.:::

"On my mark, ten seconds, then cut the forcefield. Is Sue in the Holodeck with you yet?"

:::Yes, sir.:::

Tom nodded, almost to himself.

"Paris out." He hit his badge to cut the transmission. Glancing over at Vorik and Henna by the chosen bio-bed, he saw both were armed and ready with phaser-rifles. He took a deep breath. Looked at the Doctor, keeping his face neutral.

They'd run a dozen simulations since they'd decided on this course of action. They were as ready as they would ever be.

"Are you sure we have to use her?" It wasn't really a question.

The Doctor nodded.

"She has the strongest resistance to the entity, Mr. Paris. She's the perfect test case to see if this will work at all."

Tom nodded shortly and hit his comm badge.

"Paris to Zephyr."

:::Zephyr here, sir.:::

"Activate transporter on my mark, from Holodeck Two to Sickbay. Do you have it programmed in?"

:::Yes, sir.:::

Tom took a deep breath. Looked at the Doctor, who held the hypospray that would sedate her before transport. His strained face wasn't comforting.

"Computer, initiate site-to-site transport program Paris Gamma 3, authorization Paris Alpha One, Alpha Two, Beta One. Lock on to the Doctor's emitter. Energize."

The Doctor shimmered out of sight, and Tom waited the eternal minutes until his comm badge chirped again.

_ Can't even use a sedative to keep her unconscious, can't keep the paralytic field in place so her movements won't hurt her...dear God, what am I authorizing?_

To his officers, Tom appeared perfectly in control, but the thoughts were disturbing him. Sedation took away the entire point of this exercise: if they couldn't feel the pain of IS117, then they couldn't become "distracted." The paralytic field stopped the physical movements of the body, and couldn't be used for the same reason. _Distraction. Yeah, that's a word for it, all right._

:::Ready, Mr. Paris.::: The Doctor's voice sounded strained. Tom took another breath, hit his comm badge.

"Zephyr, Ayala, mark."

Vorik and Henna each took one side of the biobed, ready for materialization.

The Doctor shimmered back into existence, holding B'Elanna carefully. Looking slightly frazzled, he placed her on the biobed, activating containment and paralytic fields. Within seconds, he was ready to begin to reverse the changes done to B'Elanna's body. They had worked out the times the night before, knew the period between the reversal and the administration of the drug had to be short. Tom looked at the dosage in his hand again. Shook slightly.

It was a fifteen minute procedure to fix the changes, and Tom was ready the instant the Doc stepped back, just as B'Elanna became conscious. She blinked, looked around her, and watched Tom approach with the hypospray.

The brown eyes widened.

"Tom?"

Her voice sounded so familiar, so--so normal. He forced himself forward.

"What are you doing?" Her voice took on a frightened edge. _B'Elanna wouldn't act scared, she'd be pissed. This isn't B'Elanna. It's not._

He checked the settings on the biobed, knew he was delaying the inevitable.

"Tom?" Her voice began to shake. "Don't do this, Tom, please." _B'Elanna wouldn't beg, she'd simply kill me. This isn't B'Elanna._

He realized his hand was beginning to shake, and he called up all of his control to stop it.

"Tom, I am your B'Elanna, in every way that matters." Her voice came faster, breathlessly. "I remember everything about us, Tom. Please don't do this. I can be more to you than she ever was, Tom. I'll love you forever, just don't do this, please, don't."

He pressed the hypospray into her neck, and watched tears form in the chocolate eyes, desperate fear twist her face, somehow having guessed what he was going to do. Her head, the only thing free of the paralytic field, turned to meet his eyes. Her eyes glistened wetly.

"I love you, Tom," she whispered.

He released the hypospray, the hiss making him wince, then released the paralytic field, leaving containment. The restraints already in place over her from the operation. Wide, horrified eyes met his an instant before they rolled back, and her body convulsed, arching her spine.

Tom watched the restraints stretch.

She screamed then, and Tom stumbled back another step. An arm caught him, gently pressing him back, near the wall, and he recognized her touch long before he opened his eyes.

"Sue?"

She stood beside him, one slim hand still on his arm, a wry smile twisting her face.

"Privilege of rank. Two of Ayala's security people were off-duty and I ordered them into the holodeck for babysitting. I didn't think you would want to be alone during this."

"I'm not alone."

One eyebrow arched in an excellent Tuvok imitation. He breathed out, slowly, until another scream cut through him, and his eyes were torn back to the bed, then to the readings on the panel above her on the wall, where the Doctor tracked the entity possessing her. Sue took his hand in hers, letting him squeeze until her bones seemed to meet. Her eyes followed his to the woman on the biobed as another convulsion snapped the scream off into an eerie silence.

No one else in the room, except perhaps Vorik, was doing much better than they were, and she guessed part of Vorik's calm came from the fact that he had participated in several of these interrogations already. Henna looked as if she wanted to be sick, and the Doctor--if a hologram could look nauseous, well, he was doing just that, hands gripping the back of a chair nearby.

"How much longer?" Sue asked, trying to distract Tom.

"I don't know. When the readings are completely clear. They can't stay in a non-altered body for more than a few hours." His voice sounded better, and he seemed almost grateful for something to distract him from the biobed, focusing the entirety of the dark blue eyes on her, a slight smile twisting his mouth. "If the Doctor is right about the drug--maybe a matter of minutes. I never administered more than 10cc at a time." His voice was matter-of-face now, and Sue once again found herself surprised by his coolness.

"Why couldn't something less--something else have been used? Reverse the changes and sedate them, since the parasite can't survive in the host body without the changes?"

"It was a thought, but the entities have a certain method of bio-control. They can kill the brain tissue of their hosts before leaving. I couldn't take that chance." _I. Not we. He's taking this personally._ "When under the influence of IS117, they are too--distracted--to do very much in the way of damage, and in itself the drug doesn't permit the--recipient--to fall unconscious." His mouth tightened perceptibly. Sue wished she hadn't brought it up.

She lifted one hand to brush her fingers across his cheek, wiping away the dampness that she hadn't seen until that moment. The bright Sickbay lights fell on his face when he looked at her, and she felt herself pause, tensing, felt him tense at the contact.

"Tom! Please, m-m-ma-make--" her voice ended in a moan that ripped into the air. Tom's eyes left Sue, darting to the bed, and Sue's followed, watching B'Elanna's spine curve impossibly. The Doctor stepped forward, then stopped himself, and a low groan vibrated in the air around them.

"The readings are showing her clear," he said, and Tom realized the Doctor had moved to the diagnostic panel. Quickly, he moved to the bed, the antidote already in hand, until the Doctor's hand stopped him. Wide blue eyes met understanding brown.

"Three more minutes."

Tom stared at him. Tried to find the words.

"What?" His voice cracked. Sue moved quickly to Tom's side, keeping a small distance, but making him aware of her support.

"We have to be sure it's gone. The projections show that they can't live outside the body for more than a minute or two, but I don't want to take chances and--" He trickled off, seeing Tom's expression.

"If she remembers nothing else, she'll remember this," Tom said softly, his face so stark Sue felt tears fill her eyes. "You didn't tell me that. Why the hell didn't you tell me that?" His voice was rising, louder with every word. Vorik and Henna both turned to look at him. "We are _torturing_ her for _three more minutes_ , and you didn't even _fucking_ bother to warn me?"

"I wasn't sure you would go through with it if you knew," the Doctor said calmly. He checked the chronometer, even though imbedded in his program was an already perfect time sense. "Two more minutes."

Tom walked away from them, going to B'Elanna's side for a moment. Blood slid down her chin from the lip she had nearly bitten through. He hadn't thought to put something in her mouth, to keep that from happening. Her eyes were closed, her breathing so heavy Tom's chest ached in sympathy, and he stood there, waiting for the brown eyes to open, to see him, to condemn him, to _hate_ him for what he was doing to her.

"Tom, move back." Sue's voice seemed to come from far away. B'Elanna twisted against the restraints, and he watched them strain. Watched her spine bend almost seemed in danger of snapping, eyes jerking open, and another scream sliced through the room, through the occupants. Through Tom.

"Tom, don't. Please come here."

Then Sue's hand was on his shoulder, his arm, gently easing him back. He didn't want to go, didn't want to move, but her gentleness was stronger than he was, and he let her ease him away.

"One minute."

Tom shuddered, his face blank. Sue kept her grip on him, hoping that would hold him long enough, that he could last out this last minute. Her heart pounding against her chest in an erratic pattern of fear and hope, looking at the bed.

_ This could be our cure._

Tom was tense beside her, so tense the muscles under her hand had become stone. B'Elanna screamed again, mumbling in something in Klingonese none of them could understand, hopefully not completely aware of what was happening to her, probably aware of nothing but the agony she was experiencing. The delicate fingers were splayed, bare feet pointed, head thrown back until a muscle spasm contracted her body tightly, another kind of agony, before forcing it out again, stretching her out to her full height, arms straining against the restraints. Blood trickled from her nose. Sue remembered during an interrogation that had happened, and wondered vaguely what caused it.

"Time."

Tom jerked forward, stumbling to B'Elanna's side to lower containment and press the hypospray against her neck. A brief few seconds, the brown eyes looked up, met his--and closed as she fell unconscious.

The Doc checked her scans, nodding.

"It worked, Mr. Paris."

Tom nodded, staring down at her, face unreadable. The Doctor gave a glance towards Sue, who acknowledged the hint and gently took Tom's hand.

"Come on. We have planning to do in getting the rest of the crew up here." He blinked, nodded slowly, almost as if in a dream. "Do you want to go back to your quarters?"

He shook his head sharply, and she tried to smile.

"We'll go to mine. I'll order some breakfast and we can begin the logistics of getting the crew back up here. You're the planner, Tom, not me."

He nodded, rather absently, but followed her. As she led him out the door, she glanced back to see B'Elanna's brown eyes open, looking at them leave, before closing again as the Doc gave her a sedative and began working to repair any damage IS117 had done to her body.

* * *

**1600 hours**

Present Time

****

The group in the conference room was silent for a long moment. For almost everyone, there was no memory of the torture; it was either blocked or delayed. B'Elanna, however, had kept a clear memory of the entire fifteen minutes she was under the influence of the drug. Tom's face was utterly expressionless, matching that of his cohorts, and Sue's--Janeway noticed, not for the first time, how completely focused the young woman was on Tom. As his First Officer, it was natural she had learned that, but for some reason, and Janeway wasn't sure why, she knew it wasn't that.

She derided herself for paying attention to something so trivial, in the midst of what was happening now.

"Do any of you have anything to add?" she asked, breaking the terrible quiet. The conspirators looked at each other, then shook their heads, almost in unison. She glanced at the time, realizing how late it was, and sighed. They'd been at this since 0800 for the third day straight. The short lunch breaks had not helped the eternal tiredness that seemed to have settled over her since her release from the entity. _Parasite. Good description, I like it, damn protocol anyway._ She glanced around at her officers and rose.

"This Inquiry is adjourned until 0800 tomorrow, at which time we will finish the sequence of events and I will decide on the appropriate action. Dismissed."

Tom rose, and almost in unison, his conspirators followed him. It never ceased to intrigue her, the instinctive rapport Tom had built with them; even now, they waited for his action before reacting themselves. Tom nodded and left the room, Sue beside him, the others only steps behind. When the doors were closed, Janeway sat down, looking around her at the rest of the staff. _Her_ staff.

She took pity, and dismissed them as well. Then she leaned back into her chair, watching B'Elanna leave, her gait, as always, steady and sure, her face calm, as it had been during the entire Inquiry. As she left the conference room, Janeway knew she was making her way to Tom's quarters, where she had been sleeping for the last two weeks. Where she spent every minute off-duty as well. Janeway knew Tom did not share them with her. He had taken up residence with Baytart when B'Elanna had been released from Sickbay.

She wondered what had driven B'Elanna out of her own quarters, what had been done there that she couldn't bear to face, and decided that she didn't want to know. Her own half-formed memories were enough to keep her occupied, she didn't need the addition of anyone else's to haunt her waking hours.

She stared at the computer that had recorded everything Tom and his crew had told her over the last three days of questioning and wondered what the hell she was supposed to do with it

She knew why she was asking, that was easy. The question was dealing with an unprecedented situation, at least as far as Starfleet records went. Half of the crew too traumatized by their possession to be very reliable while on duty, the other half implicated in a mutiny, no matter how justified. Neither side yet able to rebuild trust, rebuild rapport with each other, the one thing that Voyager absolutely required.

Not strictly true. Tom and the unpossessed crew were just fine, they all trusted each other, got along, performed their duties quickly and efficiently.

But the others--the others were living through their own version of hell.

She closed her eyes, fighting back her memory again. She couldn't afford it. She wondered, yet again, why she had forced herself to return to duty so quickly. Tom and crew had been doing a fine job, and she certainly could have used the time off.

She stood up, stretching her back, and looked down at her Chair in distaste. She could almost swear the thing was trying to sink her. Slowly, she left the room, entering the Bridge, hoping there would be something to do.

Something to keep memory at bay.

* * *

**2200 hours - Present Time**

Sue and Megan sat on Ensign Baytart's floor as Tom expertly dealt the cards for poker. The Big Twelve, as Megan dubbed them, had voluntarily removed themselves from active duty until the Inquiry was complete and Janeway gave her verdict on their fate. That left them with a lot of time on their hands, and none were comfortable wandering around the ship. They might meet a memory in the hall. The Holodecks were not an option either. They were booked with those whose trauma needed dealing with, so none of them had tried to get any time.

With an odd naturalness, they turned to Tom.

Sue and Megan had been bunking together since Jenny had been released. Megan had forgiven her sister, but could not yet forget, and Jenny was unable to face her twin. The two had decided to separate until the trauma had passed. Trauma that had stretched to a week and a half, in fact, with no sign of rapprochement. Megan was not quite able to make the first move, and Jenny was unwilling to face her sister.

Gerron didn't even try to see Megan, eager to try and drink himself into insensibility. Tom and Baytart had spent several nights drying him out. It was strange, but the "repossessed" (_sick joke, yeech, who came up with that? _ Tom had to wonder about their sense of humor.) turned to the unaffected crew whenever possible for comfort. Sue spent a great deal of her time counseling Jenny Delaney, while Tom and Baytart were often called, early in the morning, to come and rescue a distressed or drunken crewman.

No one ever commented on Tom's living situation. One look at his face that first night had ended any speculation.

Life in the Delta Quadrant. Weird--part of the job indeed.

Samantha Wildman and her daughter were present, though Naomi was asleep in Baytart's bedroom with Anna Zephyr. When Anna had tried to enter her own quarters, she'd begun to hyperventilate, almost passing out in her own doorway. Samantha, ever one to nurse those with a broken wing, had offered her a place to stay for awhile. Anna's strong empathy was a hindrance, it had very nearly kept her off-duty, and only now was she relaxing enough to perform her duties.

Tom finished dealing and picked up his hand. Carey, sitting beside Sam, tossed out a comment.

"Engineering is doing well."

Everyone looked up.

"My department is fine. Ivanovich is doing a great job holding things together," commented Tom, as he prepared to discard.

"Stellar Cartography has been reopened," offered Megan as she tossed her discards down.

"Everything seems pretty calm," offered Baytart as he picked up a carrot stick from the vegetable platter Sam had brought.

They had this conversation every day, about the same time in the evening, none were sure exactly why. Maybe it was to convince themselves that they had departments to return to. That this inquiry did not mean the end of their futures as officers.

Maybe just so life would seem more normal. Not that it was normal to be hunched up in Baytart's quarters, all of them, playing poker at 2200 hours.

Megan drew her cards and made the opening bet. Sam reached for some celery.

"We can't hide in here forever," said Joe Carey softly, staring at his cards intensely.

"We can until the end of the Inquiry," answered Megan.

"We should at least go to the Mess Hall," offered Ayala as he discarded two cards and reached to draw two more. "A lot of the crew are feeling nervous. They'd like us to be more visible."

Tom nodded as he decided whether to bet.

"You're right, but--" he shook his head, tossing the cards down. "Who's up for a Mess Hall experience?" They had yet to forget their first entrance after Captain Janeway reclaimed her command. The silence of the repossessed crew. The long looks. Not hostility so much as--what? Distrust? Fear, perhaps, shame, guilt, pick one, they all fit. _Their_ crew had welcomed them openly, with intense relief, and the Mess Hall suddenly seemed like a battlefield with two armies encamped. Once Maquis versus Starfleet, now Tom's crew versus those once infected. It had been desperately uncomfortable. Worse, Tuvok and Chakotay had both shown up, staring at the divided crew as if they had never seen them before.

Then at Tom. With that look. _As if I am deliberately trying to keep the crew divided. Give me a little credit, if I wanted the ship that bad, why the hell did I bother to bring you back?_ Tom shook the thought away, knowing very well that wasn't what they had meant to convey._ But it sure as hell felt like it._

But they had to face it sometime. Tomorrow the questioning ended and Janeway would make a judgement. Tom looked around the ten faces carefully, and stood up. They followed, in that odd synchronicity they seemed to have developed over the days of their command of the ship.

"Tom." Sue said softly, catching his attention. "I know what you're going to try to do tomorrow and my advice is--don't."

His face didn't give a damn thing away. Carey, standing at her shoulder, arms crossed, gave Tom a placid look.

"What do you think he's planning, Sue?" asked Carey, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"Probably trying to take all the credit for our adventure," Megan answered dryly. They were all relieved to hear her sense of humor return. Tom's mouth quirked.

"He's such a hog for glory," Baytart grinned, leaning against the couch. Vorik tried to do the same, but Vulcan posture did not allow for much slumping. Tom bit back a grin.

"Well, can you blame me, look what it got me!" Tom countered, motioning at Baytart's couch. At that, they all broke out in slightly maniacal laughter.

"Don't try it, Tom. None of us have any intention of backing down on this issue. Equal blame, equal consequences." Samantha looked determined.

"Sam, I appreciate the gesture--"

"It's not a gesture," Sue interrupted. "It's a fact. No matter what happens, all of us are equally to blame. No matter what."

He shook his head slowly, but didn't answer. Sue knew he hadn't been quenched of this desire to assume blame, but she was confident they could stop him before he did anything silly.

With the blue eyes filled with humor and his mouth upturned into a smile, her heart skipped a beat, and she squelched the feeling instantly, the regret that she hadn't known him better at the beginning, before he and B'Elanna. Before--before a lot of things.

She smiled and gestured to the door.

* * *

B'Elanna curled up on Tom's couch, staring out the viewport at the rushing stars, wrapped firmly in Tom's robe, so she could breathe his scent, feel closer to him. She knew where he was now, had found out easily, and imagined him in Baytart's quarters, playing cards with that innocent grin that had fooled far too many people into betting far too high with too few decent cards. It amused her, infuriated her, hurt her beyond her ability to express.

Tom had not spoken to her since her release, though the Doctor, in an uncharacteristic gesture, told her that Tom had been with her every moment he could while she'd slept. He had run many of the scans personally to ensure that she was clean of the infection, sometimes just watching her when he wasn't needed on the Bridge. When she'd been released, though, Carey had been the one to meet her.

* * *

**Day 7 1000 hours**

She met the gentle blue eyes of her second in command and found herself, to her horror, retreating.

Before she could move far, embarrass her self further, he reached out, catching her elbow. A smile of kind understanding curved his mouth as he kept the distance between them, respecting her need for space, but connecting them with his hand, to show her he was not afraid, not bitter, not angry.

He didn't have to be angry. She was bitter and angry enough for both of them.

"It didn't happen," he said carefully, meeting her eyes again, forcing him to look at her. "What happened in engineering--B'Elanna, I knew even then it wasn't you."

To her horror, tears stung in her eyes, but her Klingon side didn't accept human frailty and they soon disappeared, leaving her eyes bright but dry. Carefully, he pulled her arm.

"Tom sent me to take you to your quarters. Or maybe you want to go down to engineering and see what atrocities I've performed on your engines?" His mouth turned upward in a sly grin, and she found herself answering it instinctively, despite what she had done to him.

"I don't know what to do first, get in uniform or check on my engines to see if they're still in one piece," she joked, motioning at the loose hospital gown and robe disparagingly.

"Tom gave you the next week off, but if you're really eager to finish my reports--" he suggested archly, the words dying when the look on her face changed abruptly.

"Tom did?" She made the connection suddenly. "But--"

"You are the first we recovered," Carey explained as he led her out of Sickbay. "Do you remember?"

She shook her head shortly, and Carey, who had spoken to the Doctor, gritted his teeth beneath his closed-mouth smile. There was the hopeful possibility that the torture had not registered in her memory. This sometimes happened with extreme trauma, but the Doctor had not been too sure of that, one of the reasons Tom had ordered Carey off-duty to look after B'Elanna. It would not be a good idea for her to see Tom right away, and if she got her memory back and he was near--Carey, like Tom, didn't want to hurt her any more than necessary.

As they walked down the halls, B'Elanna became more and more aware of the stares. Anyone in a Sickbay ensemble might be stared at, perhaps, but--distrust. Dislike. She had never felt so unwelcome before. So uncomfortable on her own ship.

Carey noticed too, but kept his head, not wanting to yell out that the gawkers were idiots. Instead, he chatted calmly with B'Elanna, trying to make it clear to all who saw him that not only was he comfortable being with her, he did not hold anything she had done against her, either.

Both of them knew it would be a long time, if ever, before the rest of the crew felt the same.

As they arrived at her quarters, she looked around the neat, clean living-room and into bedroom. She knew she hadn't left it like this, but refused to remember the circumstances now, not when she wasn't alone. Yet, somehow, she found herself staring at the neatly made bed, the images wouldn't stop, and she choked, her hand pressed hard against her throat as she remembered more...and more...and more...

"B'Elanna?"

She shook her head, backing out, hitting the wall hard before regaining her composure, searching for an explanation to give to Carey. By the look of sympathy on his face, she realized she didn't need to bother. He might not know what she had done, but he knew that she was remembering something.

"I can't stay here." _Did I speak?_

Carey hit his comm badge.

"Carey to Paris."

:::Paris here. What's up?::: His voice sounded jocular, almost playful, more like the old Tom, and Carey suddenly hated to be the one to tell him this.

"Are there any empty quarters right now?"

A long pause, and then Tom spoke again.

"Take her to mine. I'll get a few things out later and stay somewhere else."

Carey looked at B'Elanna, who didn't care where she went as long as it wasn't here--_Harry, Tom, that damned bed--get it out of my mind it wasn't me, it wasn't, it wasn't--_

Easy to think the words. Harder to believe them. Carey led her to the couch, making her sit, and went to pack what she would need. Under any other circumstances, she would have realized that his going through her personal belongings would embarrass her, but she was too deep in her memories to notice or care. Her mind was full of random images trying to paint a coherent picture that she did not want to see, and when Carey took her arm to urge her to her feet, she didn't even try to resist, caught up in her internal battle.

Walking into Tom's quarters was easier. Carey planted her on the bed and replicated her something dark brown with synthehol properties he called Brandy.

"You need to sleep," he said gently.

"I've slept enough," she argued.

"No, you haven't. B'Elanna, please, you are exhausted, I know you are. Get some rest. You need it badly, trust me."

She'd agreed, finally, the liquor getting the better of her, and she heard Carey call for the lights to go off as she closed her eyes...

* * *

**2300 hours - Present Time**

B'Elanna, curled up in his robe, wondered if he would ever forgive her.

She remembered everything now. Her sleep was haunted by it. When she had awoke alone in Tom's bed every night, she heard herself gasping. Half-killing Joe in engineering. Sex with Harry--_and Tom saw it._ . De-activating the Doctor.

She remembered the procedure that removed the entity--_the parasite, the creature_ \-- from her body, all fifteen minutes of it. The entity within her had tried to cling to her body and she had fought it off, almost welcoming the pain, the irresistible unstoppable force of it, because it hurt with her, and then the welcome bliss of being free in her own mind--

_ It was worth it, every damned second of it, every second._

And her first memory free of both pain and parasite was seeing Tom holding that hypospray, face set, eyes dark and unreadable. Wanting to reach out and touch him, smooth the set lines of his face away, before she felt her eyes close and the Doc was between them--

The last time she saw Tom, he was leaving Sickbay, with Sue holding his arm.

She hated that memory. When Sue looked back, there had been something in her face, something recognizable.

_ She wants my mate._

B'Elanna was Klingon. She knew. She knew it with ever fiber of her being, and had wanted to deactivate the Doctor again when he hyposprayed her into unconsciousness.

Doctor had explained why they were keeping her in Sickbay for twenty-four hours and, at her insistence, gave her a brief history of the last three days. Tom in command. Wow. Doing a decent job. No big surprise to B'Elanna, she'd seen long ago the natural command ability he possessed.

Doc had skipped parts, but the Inquiry had taken care of that.

Even now, B'Elanna burned at that. _Inquiry. Just looking for a reason to court-martial them because they managed to save the ship without her oh-so-necessary help. Damn her, why the hell is she doing this? She could have simply taken back command, gotten a private sealed statement from each of them, and moved on in getting this crew together. But noooo--that's not Starfleet procedure, we can't do it any other way unless it's Janeway that needs the slack...and it isn't helping the crew reintegrate either. No one wants Tom and the others court-martialed for what they did, even the interrogations they performed, and she's splitting the crew worse every day continuing with this ridiculous farce. Half the crew won't talk to the other half, my engineering section alone is a nightmare without Carey and Nicoletti--_

She stopped there, taking in a deep breath. Reminding herself she was a Starfleet officer.

_ Doc said they chose me first because they could tell I was more resistant due to dual heritage--who knew it would come in so useful? It took a week to uninfect the rest of the crew. Kahless knows how they did it, getting everyone off the planet all at once, putting most of them in stasis so they couldn't hurt the bodies, and Tom administering the dose that got rid of the parasites...watching it every time, Doc said, what he put everyone through. He wanted to take all the responsibility for what he called deliberate torture, would I have done it any differently? No, not if all the options were the same. I would have done it all, and there would have been no regrets. I wonder how long it will take before he forgives himself._

She sipped the tea she had replicated, wrapped the robe closer around her. Breathed him in.

_ We have to talk. We have to, soon, before the silence goes too long. I've learned something, something he showed me, about not talking. He'll let the silence stretch forever, like I wanted it to after Sakari, I know he will. No matter what happens at that inquiry tomorrow, we have to talk. We have to._

* * *

Harry was curled alone in his quarters, staring at the walls.

He had always been a back sleeper, almost at attention even in rest. Yet tonight, and for every night since his release, he had found himself on his side, burying his head beneath a pillow, letting his memory ride him until he was too exhausted to do anything but sleep. Then the dreams would come, waking him again, pulsing with unpleasant sensations, unfamiliar emotions, intense imagery that sickened him.

His door chimed, and he ignored it, as he had ignored everyone that had come to his door over the last week. He had taken up his duty shift as soon as the Doctor had certified him physically capable, and immersed himself in his work until he was too physically exhausted to do anything but lie on his bed, unmoving, until sleep finally claimed him.

The chiming didn't stop, and his temper snapped.

"Get the hell away!"

Instead, the door opened, and Harry sat up, blinking, trying to see who it was entering. Couldn't, the light in the hallway made the figure a tall silhouette...tall...

"Tom?" His voice cracked with disbelief.

The figure paused for a moment, hesitating, then moved in further, and the door closed behind him.

"Computer, lights fifty percent."

Yes, it was Tom. Harry swung his feet over the side of the bed, unable to believe this was real, that Tom was standing here in his quarters, watching him with an unreadable expression.

They looked at each other, unblinking, searching for words.

Finally, Tom pulled up a chair, turning it backward out of habit and sitting, arms resting over the back, studying Harry on the bed.

"I know that it will be hard for everyone," Tom said quietly. "That recovery time is going to be needed. Everyone needs to think and put things in perspective. I know that. Gerron and Megan, Megan and Jenny, Sue and John--B'Elanna and me." A long pause. "Me and you.

"I'm sorry for what I had to do to free you from that thing. I know you don't remember it, and, hopefully, you never will. But if you do, I want you to know that."

Harry didn't answer, and neither spoke for a long time. Finally, Tom got up, as if to leave.

"That's all?" Harry's voice was high with disbelief. _That is all he is going to say, after what I did to him?_

Tom stiffened in the half-turn for the door, blue eyes narrowing. Turning back to Harry, his entire body still, hands fisted behind him, nails cutting deep into palms.

"What else do you want?" A dangerous edge to his low voice, but Harry was beyond caring. There was nothing, _nothing_ , Tom could do to him, say to him, that he had not done, said, to himself.

"Why did you come here? To ask _me_ to forgive something I don't even remember? After what I--"

"Don't." The quiet voice, utterly expressionless, did not even give Harry pause.

"What I did to you--with B'E--" Harry tried to force the words out.

"Don't! For God's sake, Harry..."

"With B'Elanna." His voice was hoarse. "You won't forgive me, I kn--"

"It wasn't you," Tom sounded desperate.

"It was!" Harry shuddered, too lost in his own private pain to hear Tom's. "Not all of me, but it was me, and I can remember--I remember the decision, and what happened--"

Tom moved then, grabbed Harry by the shoulders, shaking him roughly.

"Shut up, Harry! That isn't what I came here to talk about!"

It quieted Harry, cutting through the fog of guilt and grief, freezing him for a moment. Tom's breathing was audible in the silent room, half gasp, half pant, as he drew back, hands automatically moving down his thighs, as if to wipe the touch of Harry from his skin.

"I'm sorry Tom," he finally whispered, head down. "I'm so sorry, I swear I never would have done that on my own, never thought about it..."

"That's a lie." Tom's voice was harsh.

Harry's head snapped up. Met blue eyes that burned.

"You've thought about it."

Tom shivered suddenly, and he turned away. Going to the door. And Harry knew Tom, knew that once he walked through, he wouldn't come back, not ever.

"Please, Tom, listen to me!"

"It wasn't you, Harry, I know that." Tom spun to face him, blue eyes alight. "I _know_ that, don't you fucking get it? I know it wasn't your fault, there was nothing you could do, that you're guilty about it and you need absolution. I know, probably better than you think, what you're going through. And I want to say 'everything's okay, everything will be fine, let's just forget it', but I can't!" He took a deep breath, shaking his head slowly. "I can't forget yet, and I don't want to hurt you further now, by showing that to you. Letting you see how much I resent it."

"I hate myself more than you ever could," Harry whispered, head still lowered.

Tom slowly sank into the chair, gaze fixed on nothing. His breathing hadn't evened out yet, it seemed to fill the dark room.

"I could've pretended, Harry, but I owed you better than that. It doesn't have anything to do with forgiving, there is nothing to forgive. I know you never would have done that to me. Nor would B'Elanna. But it isn't easy, Harry. I knew it wouldn't be easy, I knew that. But I didn't think it would be this damned hard, either."

A low laugh reverberated through the room, bitter, angry. Harry felt himself shiver through his T-shirt at the sound.

"I told myself a long time ago I wouldn't live in the past." He lifted his head, now looking at Harry with dilated blue eyes that seemed frozen over. "We need time, all of us, to remember how not to. You went through so much--no, I don't know how much, Harry. I don't pretend to, not your experience, not anyone's, just like you don't know what we went through when you and the others were taken."

Harry, until that second, had not really thought about anything beyond his own crushing guilt. He looked at his friend, really looked at him, for the first time since he had awakened in Sickbay, to see the face of his best friend over him, removing the hypospray. Harry remembered he had wanted to smile--memory had not yet returned--wanted to ask what had happened, but Tom had turned away too quickly, and then the Doctor had intruded.

Now he saw the ashen color beneath the pale skin, the bloodshot blue eyes, the incredible tightness of every visible muscle.

"But every time I think that, I remember what happened in that room, what I watched--what was _deliberately_ planned for me to watch, with a message from B'Elanna waiting in my quarters, with the privacy lock off her door. Maybe--maybe if I had found out that something happened between the two of you under the influence of that thing, but didn't see it--that wouldn't have affected me as much. But I watched, Harry. I watched you with B'Elanna. I watched you touch her, I watched you kiss her, I watched you have sex with her, and possessed or no, it was real. You both remember it. And so do I."

Harry's eyes blurred as he listened to Tom's words, in that frighteningly flat voice.

"That doesn't mean I blame you, Harry. But it does mean it's hard to look at you right now and not think of it. To look at you and not hate you for what happened. To look at you and not--" Tom broke off abruptly, looking away.

Harry didn't need for Tom to finish that statement. He nodded. After another breath, calmer, more steady, than the last, Tom spoke again.

"I want you to understand that."

Tom got up, looking down at his friend. Hesitated, searching--

"With time--" his voice trailed off, not having the words. Maybe not wanting them either, not extending false hope. Harry understood that.

"With time," Harry echoed softly. And this time, he let Tom leave, and closed his own eyes to try again to sleep. Haunted by the blue eyes of his closest friend, a new memory to keep company with the others.

Somehow worse.


	5. In the Space of Seven Days Part V

# Part V: Aftershocks

by jenn

* * *

  
****

1100 hours

**Present Time**

"Do you have anything to add to the chronology you have given us, Mr. Paris?"

"No, ma'am."

Captain Janeway stood up, letting her gaze wander around the room, taking in the faces of her staff, then finally coming to rest on those she had put on trial. With one finger, she hit a button on her screen. Clearing the three days of data from the inquiry.

"I have found no evidence of criminal activity. This Inquiry is adjourned."

* * *

  
****

0900 hours

**Two hours earlier**

"I think you're making the right decision, Kathryn."

He rarely called her Kathryn, and she loved to hear it when he said it. She hid her pleasure by busying herself with the PADDs on her desk.

"I think so too. It solves most of the problems, which is why I decided to have an Inquiry in the first place."

"Instead of a court-martial?" His tone was teasing, a little forced, but they had time to learn to be comfortable with each other again.

"Court martial?" she answered. "No. There had to be some official action, but a court-martial wouldn't have solved anything." She looked thoughtful, and Chakotay wondered what thoughts occupied her mind now. He understood why she had chosen this path; no one, least of all Janeway, had wanted to put the crew through a court-martial when the evidence was so dependent on interpretation. "I needed the information, and this was the only way I could do that without bringing formal charges." Her smile was a little bitter. "If the crew would even have let me, that is."

Chakotay wished he could argue with that logic, but knew she was right. He also knew that if she had truly believed Tom and the other conspirators had acted criminally, she would have nailed them to the wall without giving a damn about crew opinion.

He was glad that she hadn't seen them as criminal.

"Tom needed to confess," she said softly, almost to herself, and he realized she'd used his name. Not "Mr. Paris" but Tom. He hadn't heard her say that since she'd taken back command. "It was written all over his face, even I could see it. After the last time--" she stopped short, and Chakotay, for a moment, thought she meant the incident with the Moneans. Her brow furrowed slightly. "He didn't confess last time. He learned from his mistakes. More than I've given him credit for, it seems."

Ah. He understood. Caldik Prime.

"Have you talked to the rest of the Senior Staff?" He wanted to switch the subject a little--after all she'd been through, though she certainly didn't look it, she was far too vulnerable.

"Every one of them."

"Including B'Elanna?"

She winced a little, her smile becoming a little twisted now.

"Oh, yes." Chakotay grinned, more naturally, at her rueful tone. "She had a few things to say to me about the whole concept of an Inquiry. Many words I didn't understand, but I am guessing were the Klingon equivalent of profanity. What she used in Standard she certainly didn't bother to edit by much. I've never been able to use the same word as a noun, verb, adjective, and adverb in one sentence, but she managed admirably. I haven't been that impressed since one of my Bolian instructors at the Academy was accidentally pushed down a cliff during a field trip." She smiled, reminiscing.

"How about Tom's cohorts?"

"What about them?" Her smile faded--she was back to business.

"What are you going to do about the rank changes he made?"

"Keep the rank promotions, but somehow I don't think Sam would appreciate it if I made her Head of Ops, and Harry no doubt would be equally displeased. The Acting Heads are no longer heads, and I think they'll be relieved to hear it. Ensign Zephyr and Ensign Stein--well, they both served well in a high-pressure situation. I see no reason to reduce them in rank; I'll just have to find officer's quarters for them both." She chuckled, then her smile faded. "I thought integrating the Maquis and Starfleet was difficult, but this--this is worse." She picked up her cup of coffee, staring distractedly over his shoulder.

"I know." He met her eyes for a moment, and they both looked away, trying not to think of what had happened on the planet. Between them.

* * *

  
****

1103 hours

**Present Time**

"I don't understand," Tom said blankly.

"The Inquiry is over. I have your statements, and I do not find any action meriting criminal prosecution. You are all returned to your ranks and positions aboard the Starship Voyager without prejudice."

Sue made some sort of noise, he wasn't sure what it was, because he couldn't think through his shock.

"You can't do that," he said finally, rather like a small child, and she forced her grin down and away.

"I just did, Tom."

He nodded, rather dazedly. Janeway looked around the room, noticing the equal shock of the others, but not her senior staff, who seemed simply...satisfied. B'Elanna wasn't smiling, her entire attention was focused on Tom, to the exclusion of all else, and Janeway wondered when she would finally make Tom talk. Maybe tonight, hopefully very soon. The scars created by this couldn't be healed overnight, but she had hopes at least they could be finally bandaged a little, begin to heal.

"Why?"

She smiled then, letting him see it.

"Because I found no evidence of a crime committed."

Tom's blue eyes widened, and for a moment, she toyed with the notion his jaw might drop.

"I--"

"Tom, we can do this officially, if you want. No crime. I find you and your crew innocent of any wrongdoing. You are restored to your rank and position, as are your associates, effective immediately." She had another reason for having an inquiry and clearing the incident--of all things, she did not want to arrive back in the Alpha Quadrant and have Tom face another kind of jury, a group of Admirals who probably hadn't left Earth since the beginning of time, playing the 'what if' game and second-guessing his every decision. She had been through that too many times to count, and refused to make Tom go through it.

So she simply watched him, watched the blue eyes cloud over for a moment, and raised one hand in a dismissive gesture to her senior staff. They complied quickly, with a little rustling, though she noted, from the corner of her eye, B'Elanna was less quick, eyes still on Tom, speculatively. The captain kept another smile from surfacing. Tom glanced back at the other stunned ex-mutineers and nodded quickly. They dispersed, and Janeway wondered when they would again look to her for orders

__

It's only been a week. Give them time to be back

.

Sue also stayed behind for a moment. One slender hand touched his arm lightly to get his attention, and she said something that Janeway could not quite hear. Tom nodded, a slight grin turning the corner of his mouth. Sue glanced at Janeway, nodded shortly, and left. B'Elanna was a step behind her, and Janeway briefly debated following to see what would occur.

She recognized Sue's attentions now, even if Tom did not. So, apparently, did B'Elanna.

When the room was clear, Tom approached her, smile gone, eyes on hers.

"Captain--" He stopped there. The enormity of what she had done had utterly stunned him. Hell, the enormity of what she had done stunned her, had when she had first thought of it. The simplest solution to the problems Tom's command and actions had posed.

"Sit down, Mr. Paris," she said, seating herself. He perched on the edge of the chair near hers, too tense to sit back. "You want to know why I chose this course of action, don't you?"

Both eyebrows jumped at the obvious, but he remained silent. Instead, he leaned an elbow on the table, waiting for her.

"For obvious reasons, charging you with mutiny would be ridiculous."

"But the charges regarding the use of an illegal substance, torture, and murder, are true." _Right to the point._

Janeway leaned back, studying him carefully.

"I understand why you think what you did was unforgivable, because to some it would be. If we were in the Alpha Quadrant, then your methods would certainly be called into question, starting with how you got your hands on IS117, a story I think I would like to hear. Your version, not Vorik's." At his startled look, she smiled gently. "He volunteered the information that he broke the replicator codes to get the computer to synthesize it when no other drug available proved--useful in interrogating the entities, the K'eya."

"That little--" Tom choked off the words, a rueful grin that he couldn't control appearing on his face.

"Hmm. He said something to the effect that you might try to--how did he phrase it?--take a little too much upon yourself. Tom, I want you to understand this. I am Starfleet Command out here. I came down on you regarding the Monean incident because what you did was wrong. But this--" She gazed over his shoulder for a moment. "I don't pretend to understand what led you to your decisions, but the one thing I know is that you have to believe in what you are doing if you are going to do it. You believed this was the only way to free us and keep the K'eya from possessing the rest of the crew. What's more, I don't believe that in your position, I would have done anything differently."

He nodded slowly, eyes dark. Gently, she laid her hand on his shoulder, wondering if he would pull away. She wondered if he had a memory of her she didn't, something that would make him flinch from her touch, but he didn't. For a moment, the clear blue eyes looked into hers.

"Tom," she said quietly. "I know I can't understand what you are going through, but I will try. Captains have to make snap decisions and later, they wonder if they made the right ones. If I had done this instead, I could have avoided this or that. It always happens. You were raised Starfleet, you know it as well as I do. But after you've made the decision, and you've gone through with it, you can't--you can't relive it every second, and wonder." She knew, and so did he, what decision she meant. What decision she had made that still haunted her. "You learn from it and move on, knowing next time, there is that much more information for you to draw on. You did your best, I know that. I think, deep down, you do too." She squeezed gently. "I'm proud of you for what you've accomplished."

His tentative smile warmed her. He stood up, saluting gravely, and left at her nod. She turned to stare out at the stars.

* * *

  
****

1700 hours

Present Time

****

Tom keyed his door open and walked in.

"Computer, raise lights to--"

"Seventy-five percent," a voice finished. He turned around, startled, to see B'Elanna coming out of the bathroom. He stared at her for a moment.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you were here," he said inanely, trying to connect the fact that he _had_ seen her leave this afternoon, for beta shift, in uniform, with the fact that she was now here, out of uniform, watching him. He'd asked the computer for her location before he left Baytart's quarters, and it had said she was in engineering. She leaned against the bathroom door, observing him with a slightly calculating look in her eyes. He'd seen her look at her warp engines the same way when they were doing something she didn't think they should be. It was unnerving.

"Why are you avoiding me?"

__

Nothing like getting straight to the point.

"I'm not." He winced at that automatic lie. One eyebrow arched at him and she crossed her arms over her chest. He tried again. "Okay, I was. I just thought you needed time to--"

"Recover?" she said pleasantly, and Tom gritted his teeth.

"Yeah." He actually felt himself backing to the door.

"Computer, initiate privacy lock." She sounded a little smug.

He spun to look at it. He tried it. Yes, it was sealed.

"You can't do that."

"I'm Chief Engineer, I can do almost anything." She hadn't moved, still watching him. His skin began to tingle with the feel of her steady gaze. "I didn't think you would talk to me voluntarily; this method seemed more--appropriate."

Tom couldn't believe it when she smiled, a little predatory, a little pleased, a lot B'Elanna. It abruptly occurred to him, as it always did at these moments, that as a Klingon, she had gained a hunter's instincts with her heritage. Rarely did he see it, rarely did she give into it, but here it was, reminding him that the woman he loved was probably one of the most dangerous people on Voyager.

__

A hell of a thing to think about when you are locked up with her, Tommy boy.

"I would talk voluntarily." He hated sounding stupid, but he hadn't been prepared to see her, much less converse with her. She tilted her head, the slightest curl of her lip telling him she thought he was full of shit. And he was, they both knew it. "Why aren't you on duty?"

"Chakotay gave me today off. I don't report until Alpha shift tomorrow."

"Oh." _Thanks for the warning, Chakotay._

"You only come here when I'm on-duty, and at Baytart's you're never alone. This seemed the best method."

And Sue said he could plan. It was to chuckle. The woman was an engineer, she could plan circles around him.

"I left my comm badge in engineering," she added, almost as an afterthought. Why did Tom get the feeling Carey was in on this? _So much for honor among thieves._

"What do you want to talk about?" Might as well face the issue. Not that he had a lot of choice.

"Why are you avoiding me? The real answer, Tom."

"Why do you think?"

"If I knew, why the hell would I ask?"

Point taken.

"After everything that's happened--" He tried to find a way to say it, but the words stuck in his throat.

"With the parasite?" she asked helpfully.

"With the parasite." He felt himself nodding and stopped. "Yeah. After...after..."

"After you injected me with the cure--" she trailed off, one hand outstretched a little like a magician on stage, and that thought brought some weird imagery for Tom.

"A Cardassian drug. IS117," he said softly.

She nodded.

"I recognized the effects."

He imagined she would. He imagined every one of the Maquis had recognized it instantly. More than a few had probably been exposed to it directly, long before Tom began playing with it.

B'Elanna wasn't giving him any clues, and it kept him on edge, wondering what it was she wanted. An apology? An explanation? To remove his skin? He tried to read her face, but B'Elanna had been with Tom for almost two years, and evidently she had learned a few tricks from him, not the least of which was his most blank expression.

"Okay, I give up. What do you want? An apology? A reason to kill me? What?"

She gave him a long look, slightly predatory, slightly understanding, very B'Elanna.

"I want you to tell me that everything you said to me was true."

Tom tried to take that in.

"What?"

"What you told me--the parasite. In the brig--or rather the Holodeck. What you told it, was that true?"

"Which part?" Tom felt a little dazed.

"Tom, we've played these games for--damn, it's beginning to feel like forever. I guess that tells you something. You try to get me to talk, I don't; you chase, I push you away. Get the parts down right. This isn't your role, Tom. You are supposed to want to discuss the situation and I'm supposed to want to toss you into the hall."

He didn't move, didn't breathe, was B'Elanna _joking _about what he had done? It made no sense.

"Instead, I've been reduced to _stalking _you. I want an explanation and I want it now. Did you mean what you said to the K'eya about me? Did you mean it or was it only meant to keep her off-balance?" Her voice took on an edge he hadn't heard before. "Or is it that--that what you saw--that what happened between me--"

She came to a stop, trying to find words, a euphemism to avoid saying what they both knew she meant.

"And Harry?" The slightest edge to his voice.

"Yeah." She didn't say anything further, and he wasn't sure what it was she wanted to hear.

"B'Elanna, I don't understand. You-- B'Elanna, you think I blame you for that?" He seemed honestly surprised.

"It's the second time," she said softly, and he remembered, at that moment, Steth.

"That isn't--B'Elanna, you know me better than that."

"Yes and no, Tom. This was different, though, wasn't it? Different for both of us."

"There is a difference. It wasn't you."

"Yes it was." Her voice changed, and Tom found his breath catch. "I remember it all, every second. The look on your face, I remember that! I lived the whole thing, I watched it and experienced it, and--" She stopped, trying to find the words, but there weren't any. "You sent Carey to meet me when I was released, you wouldn't talk to me. You've been avoiding me--what am I supposed to think?"

"That's not why I sent him. I didn't think you would want to see me." His voice was quiet.

"Why?" She unconsciously stepped forward, searching his face. "Because of what you had to do to get rid of that thing inside of us? Inside me? Did you think I wouldn't understand that?"

"I don't know!" He leaned back against the wall, and she studied his strained face, the dark circles beneath his eyes, eyes that wouldn't meet hers, and knew she had finally found what was holding him back. "I don't know because I don't know how I would have felt in that situation. I don't know because there should have been another way to cure you, and there wasn't, I couldn't find it. Because the person I was before this happened--" He stopped short, his breath coming faster.

"Because you think what you did made you into who you used to be. Before Voyager."

He didn't answer.

She couldn't just say that he _was_ the same, because he wasn't, and they both knew it. What he had done, however necessary, had changed him, his perception of himself. He realized now the limits he would push to get something done. A fundamental change in the way he saw the world, saw Starfleet. That he knew that, acknowledged and accepted it, surprised her in some way.

"That's why you're being so open at the inquiry, why you're trying to assume all the responsibility, isn't it? Not just to protect the others. You want everyone to see you as you see yourself."

"Do you even know how I see myself?"

"No. I don't look in your mirror. But I can see on your face you don't think much of it."

"I don't."

The silence stretched, and neither looked at the other, unsure where to go with this, how far too push--if they even wanted to push; hadn't they been here before? Tom's withdrawal into his holodeck car programs, her withdrawal into dangerous holodeck scenarios. They had found their way back, but it had never been easy.

But she didn't remember it being this hard, either.

"What do you want, Tom?" She heard her voice, calm, so much like her normal tone she didn't recognize it.

"To wake up."

She closed her eyes for a moment, absorbing the throbbing bitterness in his voice, the low-key frustration, the helpless anger.

"I wouldn't have done anything differently," she said softly. He looked up now, eyes on her. "I thought about it, when you gave your testimony. I thought about what you did, and I thought, would I have done what he did? And it's always _yes_.

"I don't know what else to say. I spend all my free time just sitting in here, thinking, remembering. I try to convince myself that I really had nothing to do with this, that it was just some kind of dream, but I know it's not. I lived it, every second, every minute, trying to stop that thing in me any way I could. Sometimes I succeeded, but not often."

"It wasn't your fault." His voice was so certain. She wished she could believe him.

"What happened with Harry...and with Joe...and all the other things that I did. No, it wasn't me, but it was, because I remember it, all of it. Do you remember the Enaran dreams I used to have?"

He nodded.

"It's almost like that. The entity's emotions, my emotions, I couldn't tell the difference sometimes. Guilt, anger, rage, hate--and I want to kill them all, I wanted to kill myself just so that thing inside me would die. I've never felt like that before. I watched myself do all those things, and..." she stopped. Not knowing what else to say. If there was anything left.

Silence again, and B'Elanna knew, somehow just knew, that if they didn't start now, they never would. That it would end like this, trapped in their own memories, their own minds, apart.

"Did you mean it?" She finally got the words out, and he looked at her for a long time, knowing what she referred to.

"Yes."

She moved, or maybe he did, and finally, she was in his arms, her heart racing, her eyes burning with the tears she would not shed, could not shed, but wanted to. She contented herself with clutching him close, until they found their way to the couch. They sat there for a long time, not speaking, not thinking, just enough to be together.

Tom pushed her hair back from her face gently, studying it, tracing it with his fingers over each ridge, over her eyes, nose, mouth, down her chin. So carefully.

"Are you sure?" he asked softly. She knew what he meant and nodded.

"If you are."

"I am."

"Everything is changed, but I think I can handle that."

"So can I. If you want to."

"I want to."

She took his face between her hands, gently, rubbing her thumbs over his cheekbones, meeting his eyes.

"Do you want to know what I see? When I was in the Maquis, I did things I--things I am not proud of. You know that. So did Chakotay, so has every one of us. We believed in our cause so strongly that the ends justified the means. Whatever it took to succeed, to leave an impression. Sometimes just to cause pain to match what they caused us. It don't feel honorable admitting to that, and we--we tried to be noble, but sometimes we didn't live up to our own ideals. Sometimes we forgot those ideals and sank down to the level of those we were fighting.

"So when I look at you, I see that. You did what you had to, the ends justified the means. And if you--if you--"

"Liked hurting them? Didn't find a way to get rid of them and not kill them? Didn't care to find a way?" His voice was challenging, but not to her. To himself.

"Then what does that make you? Very human."

"It doesn't excuse it."

"It doesn't have to. You acknowledge it, you live with it, you move on."

"That doesn't make it any easier."

She brushed a finger across his nose.

"I know."

They looked at each other for a long time.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there when you were released. It was selfish. I did it to spare you, but--"

"You also did it to spare yourself. You don't have to be selfless all the time, Tom, or you'd be boring."

"God save me from being boring."

"Amen." Her mouth quirked, and she closed her eyes as he leaned to kiss her, gently, a brush of the lips across her mouth.

"We can get through this."

"I know."

* * *

  
****

0300 hours

Present Time

****

Tom awoke to the feel of a mouth touching his. He lay still, responding to the caress, the feel of a warm tongue brush across his lips, into his mouth. He knew there was something not quite right about this, but sleep had dimmed his mind too much to be sure of anything. He lifted one hand to touch her face--

\--and immediately found that hand pinned to the bed. He opened his eyes, more than a little surprised, B'Elanna's most aggressive tendencies tended to come out early in the evening, not early in the morning.

Her nightgown was already off, and that was uncharacteristic enough to snap him from the drowsy arousal and try to sit up.

Nothing doing. His other hand joined his first, and he realized she wasn't playing. He couldn't break her grip.

"B'Elanna?"

She leaned down, catching his lip between her teeth, and he felt the flesh break, tasted iron in his mouth, before she moved down. Her mouth settled on the junction of his neck and shoulder, a favorite place, to lightly bite, then apply more pressure.

This wasn't right. He tried to move his hands again, and didn't even get an acknowledgement for his effort.

"B'Elanna!"

She growled in answer, and leaned down to cover his mouth with hers, an aggressive kiss that should have been exciting--but wasn't. It scared him.

She maneuvered her hips over his, sliding down over his erection, and he caught his breath--_whoa, it's been a long time_\-- and her lips moving down his chest, catching the flesh between her teeth. He gasped softly at the feel, but something wasn't right, he knew it, could feel it in the way she moved, the almost desperate--

__

Oh, damn, B'Elanna, no.

"B'Elanna. Stop." He struggled to enunciate each word clearly. It was a struggle.

He might as well have spoken Romulan, for all the attention she paid to him. He pulled against her grip again, trying to free his hands.

"Tom," she whispered huskily, licking at one nipple before lifting her head, meeting his eyes, letting him see what was in them. "I've missed you."

He tensed every muscle in his body, then flipped her, a practiced motion she never quite anticipated soon enough to counter it. He pinned her down, breaking the hold on his wrists, catching her hands and pinning them to the bed. She moved her hips against him, watching his undeniable reaction.

"Come on, Tom. Do it."

And he wanted to. And didn't. He forced his body under some sort of control, trying to stop her moving. It didn't help.

"B'Elanna, you don't want this." His voice was breathless. _Or maybe she does._ For all the wrong reasons.

"Just see how much I want it," she purred. The sound always made his skin tingle. He ruthlessly suppressed the sensation, knowing this wasn't right. After all that had happened, after what had been said, he still hadn't been able to make her understand. _Failed again, no surprise._ He forced the thought from his mind, controlling his impulse to just give her what she wanted--_Not like this._

B'Elanna watched the play of emotion on his face, thrust her hips up, maneuvering until he was between her legs, and they were pressed together. _Dear God. _He could feel just how much she wanted it, wanted it now...

"B'Elanna, no. We can't."

"Since when?" She broke his hold on her wrists, he and had to admire the speed she did that with, pushing him over on his back. She over-calculated the momentum needed, and he hit the floor. Not a problem for her. She followed before he could catch his breath, straddling him, working her fingers at the edge of his shorts. He caught her hands in his, then grabbed her face, forcing her to look at him.

"No! B'Elanna, stop!"

"Why?" She ground herself against him, a very practiced movement she often used quite successfully, and Tom bit back the gasp, trying to keep his mind clear. He wanted her so badly--

"Don't do this, B'Elanna. Listen to me!"

"Stop fighting me!"

"You don't need to prove anything." He finally found his balance and sat up, putting an arm around her waist and pushing her back against the side of the bed. "B'Elanna, don't do this."

Wide brown eyes looked into his.

"You want me." Was there uncertainty in her voice?

"Since I first saw you. That's not the point."

"Then what the hell is the point? We've been doing this for two years, what the fuck is your problem?" She began to struggle in earnest, with a desperation he did not recognize. He tightened his grip, wondering how long he could hold her.

"I've never heard you use language like that, for one." He kept his grip on her head, not letting her look away. "I know why you're doing this. I told you it doesn't matter what happened with Harry. You don't have to do this."

"I want you, Tom." But he could see her eyes, and knew she didn't mean it. He stared at her, and she looked away, lowering her head, and he gentled his grip. "I want to make love with you."

"No, you want to have sex with me. There's a difference." His breath was coming too fast, he had to make an effort to slow it. "You want to erase a memory. I won't do that for you. You'd hate me if I let you."

"I love you!"

"You don't have to prove it to me! I know that."

She shook her head, slowly. Refusing to listen, yet knowing he was right. Slowly, her struggles ceased, and she lowered her head.

"Maybe I need to prove it to myself?" she whispered, and felt him stiffen for a moment. Then he nodded, carefully moving her onto the edge of the bed so he could stand up. He didn't join her, instead stood perfectly still, and she couldn't read a damn thing in his face.

"B'Elanna, do you have feelings for Harry?" She'd never heard that tone before. Nothing in it but the coolest, most disinterested curiosity.

"No. Not like that."

She thought she saw him relax, just a little, but it was hard to see in the almost complete darkness of the room. She felt him sit on the edge of the bed.

"Then why do you need to prove it to yourself?" He reached out, as if to touch her, but instead moved his hand back, leaning on it to study her. "Computer, lights, twenty-five percent."

The illumination made their faces clearer, especially for eyes adjusted to the dark. Her face was unreadable, a good trick for someone whose every emotion played on her face constantly, whether she wanted it to or not. You always knew where you stood with B'Elanna. Except for this one time.

"That it was all the K'eya. Not me." Her voice was a whisper, barely audible.

Tom closed his eyes for a minute. Tried to find the air.

"Your entity had feelings for Harry's." Hadn't he told Sue that? Gods, he could have lived the rest of his life not knowing this. "You remember how it felt, because you felt it too." His voice was incredibly calm. He wanted to yell. He didn't.

She nodded slowly. Tom took a deep breath.

"How do you feel about me?"

"I love you, Tom, that hasn't changed." She sounded desperate. He couldn't remember ever sounding like that before, and it was because of him. Because of the K'eya.

"But now you think you have residual feelings for Harry? From the K'eya?" He tried and failed to keep the slightly sarcastic edge from his voice.

She hesitated, then nodded.

"I don't want him, Tom. I don't. But the K'eya's feelings were real, and I can remember that." She stared at her hands, trying to make sense to herself. He heard her breath catching, knew it meant her Klingon side has just successfully controlled a bout of tears. The sound never ceased to hurt him when he heard it.

"You didn't tell me that earlier."

"I didn't want to make you think that--it was anything." Her voice was uncertain. Another catch in her voice. He closed his eyes for a moment.

"It is something!" He didn't remember ever feeling so out of control, out of his element, he wasn't a psychologist, damn it, he was a pilot, why in the name of all that was holy was he trying to figure out what this meant? And suddenly, viciously, he wanted to hurt her like she had hurt him, and the words he could do it with came so naturally, so easily--he bit them back. Remembered what he had told the K'eya.

That it didn't matter.

He'd lied. It did matter, but not in the way she had thought.

__

What did I think? One talk and everything would go back to normal? Was I really that naïve, to think there wouldn't be consequences for what happened to us? Not over anything I did, how ironic that I was worrying about that. Over what it made her do.

The trick was, knowing what to do now.

More than anything, he wanted to be out of this bed, far away from this room, be somewhere else, anywhere else. The temptation was so strong, just to get up and go.

Leave her behind.

Two simple choices, leave or stay. Leave or stay.

He remembered what he had told the K'eya. Remembered what he had told himself that first day, that he wasn't just a pilot, but a leader. He was no longer a leader (at least, not of an entire ship, he couldn't express his relief enough for that), but he wasn't just a pilot. He was this woman's lover, her mate.

__

I don't like the man I used to be, before Voyager. He would have walked away, not given a damn once the door was closed. He would have left and never looked back, never thought it worth the effort to work through it. I know differently now, I know it's worth the effort, is it just I want the easy way out? So I don't have to hurt anymore, either?

"You need time to come to terms with what happened," he said finally, carefully. "I understand that. Do you want me to leave?"

"No." She sounded sure about that, at least.

__

I can do this. I can live with this, move on from this, put the past behind, and help her. I can do this because she matters to me, more than anything else, anyone else. I don't want to lose her. I won't cut and run. She needs me and I need her.

"Computer, lights off." He pulled the blanket aside, sliding under it. Almost by accident, he found her hand.

"We'll get through this," he said softly, making himself believe it. And was rewarded with a squeeze of small fingers, before she curled close, her forehead touching his shoulder, her hand clasped tightly in his. He could feel the warmth of her body against his side, heard her breathing try to even out. Knew neither of them would sleep much.

__

Time. Time, time, time. Well, we have about fifty years left, I guess we certainly have the time.

He thought about that, and turned over on his side, lifting her face with one hand for a moment, looking into her eyes.

"I can wait." She nodded jerkily, and he put his arm around her, drawing her close, then remembered she was naked. _Gods, I forgot how that feels._ Despite what had happened, hell, maybe because of it, he heard himself emit a slight, involuntary laugh that she caught. They looked at each other for a moment, wary smiles on both mouths. Slowly, they settled back down.

"Do you want me to put my nightgown back on?" she asked softly, next to his ear, making him shiver.

"No." He leaned over, speaking just against her ear. "I missed you, B'Elanna. I meant everything I said to the K'eya and I meant everything I said to you tonight. We have time."

He felt her body relax against his, and she nodded. Relieved.

* * *

When her breathing evened into full sleep, Tom carefully disengaged himself from her arms and got up. He dressed quickly in some civvies he had in the back of his closet. Quietly, he made his way out the door, entering the dark halls with some relief, but determined, at least until he got where he was going, to think of absolutely nothing.

The Holodecks were, for once, unoccupied, and he programmed in what he wanted, then reconsidered. Wondering if this was what he wanted to do.

"Kathryn."

Tom stiffened and turned to see his Captain, semi-visible in the dark of the corridor. Chakotay was with her, and he realized, from their casual attire they must have just left the Holodeck themselves. They stood close together.

Tom knew he should have just gone straight into his program, but didn't.

"You know this is a bad idea," the Captain said softly. "What happened on the planet...that wasn't us."

"Wasn't it?" Tom had never heard that timbre in the First Officer's voice before. Low, gentle...but something else too. _He's remembering what happened between them. And why am I standing here?_

They looked at each other for a long time, unmoving, then, very slowly, the Captain moved toward him, lifting one hand to touch his face. He turned his head into her palm, brushing his lips against it, gently clasping the slightly trembling hand in his, before looking at her again. They moved together, bodies barely brushing, her hand still beside his face, still held there by his. He leaned down, mouth touching hers for just a moment...a breath of time, then they were pressed together, hungrily, and Tom stumbled back into the Holodeck, the doors closing as he looked at them, trying not to think what this could mean for him, for B'Elanna..._They've been attracted to each other for years, you know that, hell, you started the betting pool! Which I just won, by the way._ Somehow, it didn't make him feel any better.

He regained his breath, looking around Sandrine's for a long moment.

And walked to the bar replicator and ordered a drink.

* * *

Sue could not have said what led her to the Holodecks. They had been in constant use for the last week and a half. She had no illusions any would be open now, but despite that, maybe just to have another deck to walk off her dreams, she went by there anyway, and looked at the settings. One had a privacy lock, one did not, but both were running. She checked the program on the unlocked one, and knew, almost instinctively, who was running it.

"Computer, location of Ensign Paris?"

:::Ensign Paris is in Holodeck One.:::

He was, in some ways, as predictable as a Ferengi is trustworthy. Always wore his comm badge. She touched the panel to open the door and walked in.

Not surprisingly, he was sitting at the bar. No holographic people were around, she noted, not even Sandrine. She debated walking over, almost deciding to leave quietly, when she heard his voice.

"You couldn't sleep either?"

__

How the hell did he know it was me?

"No," she said, joining him at the bar. There was a large bottle of purple liquor near him, roughly close to one-quarter empty. Ever the gentleman, he poured her a glass and handed it to her. One taste told her why only a quarter of the bottle had been consumed. She choked.

She caught his grin.

"What the _hell_ is that?" she asked when she got her breath back.

"Romulan wine. If you think that's harsh on the throat, try the ale one day," he said. He drained his glass and poured himself another, seemingly focused completely on the liquor in front of him.

She was beginning to feel the effects already.

"I won't even ask how you got _that_ out of the replicator," she said, taking another very cautious sip. He laughed softly, and the sound was so natural, like his smile.

She thought about that. About that unconsciously flirtatious smile that warmed her, the soft, easy laugh, placing it in her memory. Something was not right, she knew this man, had spent the last two weeks with him almost constantly. Her mind connected the alcohol with that smile, and sighed softly.

"What happened?" she asked quietly.

"Why do you think something happened? You know me too well." Another grin, more intimate, and she felt her face flush. She took a drink to hide it, a larger swallow than necessary, but this time she didn't choke. It actually wasn't bad, a very fruity taste with a hint of cloves. Not entirely unpleasant, once you got used to it. Really, not bad at all.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked finally, leaning one elbow on the bar, as he was doing, facing him with no expectation that he would tell her.

Again, he surprised her.

"Just adjustment problems," he said noncommittally.

"For you?"

He shook his head in wry amusement.

"For everyone. Just catching up with me, I guess."

"Bullshit."

The blue eyes widened exaggeratedly.

"Sue! Such language from an officer and a lady."

"When did I claim to be a lady?" she retorted, grinning despite herself. "You don't have to talk about it, Tom, but if you need to, I am here."

"You always have been, haven't you?" He put both elbows on the bar, eyes turned straight ahead, missing the expression that crossed her face when he said that. "It's not that big a deal, it's just--remember when we were talking about how the crew would adjust to the formerly infected crewmembers returning?"

She nodded slowly, watching him.

"I told you that we could find a way to move on, something to that effect right? That we would be able to separate what they did as entities and who they are now that they're free. Well, I didn't realize how hard that would be, and only recently did it occur to me how hard it would be for them to separate those two things as well."

She bit her lip. Something had happened with B'Elanna. Baytart had said Tom had gone to his room that afternoon and that B'Elanna had taken that shift off, presumably so they could talk. Tom hadn't been seen since, and had not returned to Baytart's quarter that night.

Something had happened. Apparently, it hadn't been good.

"Have you and John talked?" Tom asked softly, lifting the glass to his mouth and finishing the considerable amount within.

"Yes. Mostly to the effect we need time, yadda-yadda-yadda, you know the drill. I think--I know it's not going to work out."

"Are you sure about that?" He was looking at her again, with a steady blue gaze that unnerved her.

"Yes." She looked straight back, unmoving. Almost not breathing.

"I saw the Captain and Chakotay in the corridor. It seems what happened on the planet has changed their relationship," Tom said softly, eyes still fixed on her. "I won a bet. I should have guessed only alien interference could have caused that to happen. Somehow, left on their own, I doubt it ever would have."

__

He isn't talking about the Captain anymore.

"You think so?" she said softly. Tom didn't answer for a minute.

"Yeah."

Sue felt her hand grip the glass tightly, warming the liquor with her skin, and he lifted a hand, brushing the stray hair back from her face, the tips of his fingers brushing her cheek. Lingering there for a moment, unmoving. Stopping her breath.

"Or maybe it was inevitable." It hurt to say it. _But I won't be a replacement. Won't? Can't?_

"Inevitable?"

"I don't know, I don't live in their heads, but the signs were there for so long. Anyone could see it, even me." She wasn't talking about the Captain either. "And when it happens like that, maybe it's because it wasn't the only way, but the most convenient way, the excuse needed." She took a deep breath, hard to do with those blue eyes on her like that. Knowing what she said could be taken either of two ways, and wondering which he would choose.

Which one she wanted him to choose.

For a long time, he didn't move, she didn't know if he even breathed. Then he nodded and stood up, leaning down to brush her cheek with his lips, an absent, gentlemanly gesture, and it took all her self-control to keep from turning into that kiss. Knowing just how much he wanted comfort right now,

Knowing there was a real possibility he wouldn't turn away.

__

But I won't be a proxy for someone else. I won't, I can't.

With a sad smile, he walked out. She listened to the Holodeck doors close behind him, and stared at the bottle, mesmerized, before filling another glass.

the end


	6. Reality in Absentia

**0600 hours - Present Time**

B'Elanna woke up slowly, head sore, face buried in the pillow. She reached out, feeling for Tom.

Except where he should be, the bed was cold. Something in her froze.

"Good morning."

She lifted her head, pushing her hair back from her face. Tom was in uniform, sitting on a chair near the bed, apparently reading a PADD. The relief that flooded her was instant, and she smiled.

"Dressed already?"

"It's my first day back on duty. Are you hungry?"

She blinked, thought about it, and realized she could smell something. Banana-ish.

"You replicated breakfast?"

He grinned. Dropping the PADD, he crawled onto the bed to reach her, gently flipping her onto her back before leaning close, noses almost touching. Her smile widened at the sudden playfulness.

"Yep."

She smiled, couldn't help it. Pushing herself up on her arms, she forced him to sit up a little, blue eyes still looking into hers.

"What did you make?"

"Pancakes. Banana." Her smile faded, the brown eyes darkened with emotion. "I'm sorry. You told Neelix--"

"Yeah." She shook her head quickly. "Thanks. Give me a minute to get dressed." Suddenly self-conscious, she pulled the sheet up. He chucked softly.

"Who says you need to get dressed?" He slipped off the bed and picked up the tray and arranged pillows behind her carefully. "Breakfast in bed, my lady."

She noticed there was only food for one, and gave him a look. She gave him credit, he was good at interpretation, at intuiting the questions she would not ask.

"I ate already," he explained. "When I went to Baytart's."

Her mouth went dry. He wasn't staying. She had no idea, even now, why it was so important to her that he didn't leave, but it was. She felt her fingers bend the fork in her hand, and he gently rescued it.

"Just to get a few things," he continued, as if he hadn't just watched her bend solid metal in half. "That is, if you still want me to stay." He dropped the fork in the recycler and found another one, hopefully sturdier than its mate, and handed it over. The hand that took it from him trembled slightly.

She nodded and Tom took a deep breath, smiling gently.

"I'm going to my shift early, it's been a while since I was at the Conn."

"As if you'd forget." Her tone was almost teasing, almost normal. But not quite.

"Do you want to meet for lunch in the Mess Hall?"

She squared her shoulders unconsciously, setting her expression, and he remembered that few, if any, of the de-infected crew ate in the Mess Hall anymore. He made a mental note to mention it to Captain Janeway.

"Yeah. Twelve hundred?"

He nodded, brushed a finger over her cheek, and left, quietly. She watched him go, thoughtful, before turning her attention to the pancakes.

In the hall, he turned to the turbolift, keeping his mind carefully blank. Wondering again whether this was such a good idea.

_ Before this, we weren't nearly at the point where we were ready to move in together. I know B'Elanna would not have considered it. But if I leave now, she'll see it as a rejection, no matter how I put it. Well, my couch is comfortable enough...I suppose._ He seemed to have spent a lot of time on couches recently. Fondly, he remembered what a bed felt like. He certainly wouldn't feel it again anytime soon.

He fought a reluctant grin.

_ Before, if she had said she wanted to move in with me, I would have been thrilled and scared and everything else, but now...it seems almost inevitable. Maybe because she looks so comfortable there, or because I see her things near mine, or maybe...maybe I am more ready than I thought, but I worry about us doing this. It could help us or make matters worse. She does need someone with her now. I don't want her alone, especially at night, not if last night is any indication of how her dreams are. Who else could stay with her--Harry?_

He stopped for a second, remembering Harry would be on the Bridge.

_ It's not his fault. Why am I angry with him but not B'Elanna?_

That was an easy one, and Tom shook his head as he came to a stop by the turbolift doors. He loved her, he didn't care what happened so long as he had her. _How odd. How very wonderful and very odd, and why the hell aren't I panicking right now? I just took on one hell of a commitment here, after a very bad night, and I don't even care._

He remembered coming back into his quarters the night before, headache already starting, a perk of drinking Romulan wine.

* * *

**0450 hours - One hour earlier**

Headache, headache, headache. He'd forgotten just how bad one could be, and detoured to Sickbay. As a medic, he knew what to take for it, so he didn't bother calling up the EMH and subjecting himself to a lecture about propriety and hangovers. As likely as not, the Doc would not give it to him anyway, as a lesson. Tom, however, had the Alpha Shift, his first day back at the Conn in--_two weeks? Three? I can't even remember how long it's been._ . He had no intention of suffering while piloting, not to mention the other symptoms inherent in overindulgence in alcohol.

He was intimately familiar with every one of them.

Quietly, he found the correct medication and dosed himself, then made his way to his quarters.

Sue's words had taken root. Insomnia wasn't helping his shift in mood. He looked down the dark grey of the corridors.

_ Inevitable. Me or Harry? I've never seen anything between them before, though. Friendship, really like siblings more than anything. Then again, when B'Elanna was under Vorik's Pon Farr, she approached me, and there really wasn't much warning for that either._

He considered that train of thought as the carpet rustled beneath his feet. He looked down, noticing the wear on it. It had been used for so long, without the usual replacements that occurred after a few years. _No excess power for the replicator to replicate more, no spacedock to fix it in, and hell, do you want to be the one that recarpets this entire ship? Interesting idea for discipline on ship, though. Wonder why Tuvok never thought of it instead of resorting to the brig? _ It boggled the mind, and he wondered idly how many square kilometers of the ship was carpeted, the length of time it would take to pull it all up and replace it, the amount of glue or whatever was used to hold it down, and, all on its own, his mind worked out what seemed to be a brilliant equation to figure it out. Tom loved math (he really didn't have much choice, piloting and holoprogramming both required it) but these kinds of applications of it to everyday life were unusual, and he understood where it came from.

Not wanting to think. At least he could recognize bad habits returning, he thought darkly. Avoidance of issues. He was good at that. He'd had years of practice.

This time, however, Tom decided to be different. He set his mind to the problem of B'Elanna Torres, and walked into his own quarters, still undecided.

And he sat down in a chair near his bed to watch her sleep.

She was half-curled on her stomach, head pressed to the pillow. Her hair fanned around her face, covering one eye. The sheet was pulled down to her waist, but her position revealed only a deliciously ridged spine (a grace he wasn't sure he was thankful for). Her lips were slightly parted in sleep, one small hand clutching the pillow. She looked so young when she slept, so at peace, unlike her existence in the real world. He wondered what she dreamed of.

Wondered if it was pleasant.

And refused to think further along that line at all. He lifted one leg over the arm of the chair, watching her soft, even breathing.

Inevitable.

_ When she told me she loved me, it wasn't under pon farr either--it was the Cataati and she thought we only had a few seconds to live, of course she thought she was in love with me, I was there. She probably would have told Chakotay the same thing under those circumstances. Ick, I didn't need that mental image, thanks._

_Why? Too close to home?_

Tom ignored the inner voice for a moment, watching her stir. Her fingers dug more deeply into the pillow, and she made a soft sound, her entire body twisting.

_ The question before us is this, Tom, no matter how you dance around it. Do you trust her?_

Well, that would be the one he had been avoiding, all right, since the beginning. A particular kind of trust too. It had been hard to pursue her, knowing that his reputation, a well-deserved reputation at that, was one huge black mark against him. He had thought he had plenty of time to change her mind--and plenty of time to work out how he would react when she did.

Vorik had completely unbalanced that emotional equation.

_ Why did I want her? Because she disliked me so much on contact I just had to change her mind? Because she was the ultimate in unattainable--a half-Klingon who didn't seem to need anyone? Was it any or all of these things, or was it something more instinctive? Why the hell am I asking myself these questions?_

Well, it all came down to the trust issue. Accepting her declaration of her feelings, beginning a relationship, sleeping together...all of those things were easy compared to opening up. He'd never doubted her fidelity to him, not once, but he had doubted her ability to want him for not only what he was now, but with the memories of what he had been before. One of the reasons he'd never shared those things with her. And all of that had just come out on Voyager, all of those lost skills he would have traded almost anything not to have used, that streak of coldness that had let him do it with little regret--and his own disgust at how little it truly affected him until he had to practice those skills on B'Elanna.

So easy to slip back into that role, that man. Terrifyingly easy.

_ So you want to cut and run because of the possibility she won't want you, when she already knows what you did and doesn't seem that scared. That isn't logical._

_Well, love never is, is it?_

He smiled to himself at that.

_ What makes you so sure that your bond with her is weaker because of what happened with Harry? You've been together almost two years, possessed by an entity he had her three days--well, a little more, actually, but lets not think specific--and suddenly she's going to throw herself at Harry? Do you believe her when she says she loves you?_

_Yes._

_Then why are we tracing the same track again? For some reason, I thought this decision was made. You would stay because you love her and need her. Trying to talk yourself out of it?_

_Yep._

_Then do it better, there are too many holes in these arguments. Just make a decision and for once in your life stick to it!_

Ouch. Hurts when your conscience sounds like your father.

So he watched the small body turn slightly on the bed, twisting the sheet around her, tried to imagine years with her, remembering what he had seen. Wondered if he really could wake up one morning and not see her and Harry together in his mind's eye.

If he could ever touch her again and not see Harry doing the same thing.

Not comfortable thoughts, these.

_ Maybe we should have had sex last night. Maybe it would have purged both our memories._

"Tom?" Her voice was laced with fear.

His eyes went back to the bed, but she wasn't awake. She'd rolled over and her face was pale, oddly contorted, teeth gritted together.

"Don't watch. Don't. Gods, let me go! Get out of my mind! Stop it, Harry, no!"

She struggled against an unseen adversary, and Tom remembered Sue telling him, in a choked voice, about Jenny's worst nights, the screaming and struggling about being trapped and no way out, among other things Sue would not describe except with tight-lipped silence.

He carefully eased down on the bed, touching her face.

"Hush, sweetheart, it's only a dream." He caught one flailing hand, relieved his reflexes were faster than hers, and pinned it down. _That would have hurt._ Gently, he stroked her face, whispering words he remembered from childhood, when his mother had awakened him from nightmares, hoping the soothing tone would be enough, because beyond that he had no idea what to do. After a few more minutes, she stopped moving, her body relaxed back into quiet sleep. He eased himself away, wrapping the blankets tighter around her and remembering, very suddenly, she was sensitive to the cold.

"Computer," he said softly, "increase temperature by seven degrees." The room warmed quickly. He sighed, sitting back, then remembered he hadn't talked to Baytart about moving out, and decided to do that now. With a last glance at her, he walked out.

* * *

**1200 hours - Present Time**

The duty shift was so uneventful that it was positively anticlimactic for Tom. Lunch came as a relief.

So did the sight of B'Elanna, waiting just outside the Mess Hall. He had to smile. She had that look, that very brave, very determined look. Very B'Elanna.

_ If there were any enemies to fight in there, they wouldn't stand a chance._

He did nothing to indicate that her waiting outside for him, instead of finding a table inside, was unique. He understood how she felt. He hated going in there alone too these days. No telling when a memory might hit you, and he had too many people remembering things about him for it to be very comfortable.

So he put on a cocky smile and gestured for her to precede him.

She did one better. As she passed, she caught his hand.

Now that was really new. B'Elanna was not exactly the demonstrative type. (Though the crew might have disagreed, after the odd alien experimentation that had occurred to them soon after they began to become serious.) He blinked, looking at her, seeing her smile, her determined expression, and smiled back, brushing her palm with his thumb before walking in, looking around the room carefully for anyone they knew.

And saw someone.

_ Harry. It had to be. Fucking hell, this is not what she needs, and why didn't I think of this?_

B'Elanna stiffened, and Tom abruptly turned them around, walking back out. The brown eyes were so dark they had turned black. She took a sharp breath, followed by another, too quickly. He gently pressed her against the far wall, ignoring the curious gazes of passing crewmen.

"Take a deep breath. Another one. That's it. B'Elanna, do you want to eat lunch somewhere else?"

She nodded, trying desperately to regain her composure, her breath still too fast, and Tom glanced back as the doors opened, saw some crewmen look out at them curiously. Didn't give a damn.

"Come on." He pulled her close, feeling her tremble. Wondering what it could possibly be like to see the someone you'd been the unwilling lover of, see him when you weren't prepared--_It must have been tearing her up to sit in that damned conference room during the Inquiry._

Made Tom hate the entities even more.

In the quiet of his quarters, he ordered something from the replicator and sat her on the bed, crouching to look at her. Not touching her yet--B'Elanna wasn't as tactile as he was, she needed space to be comfortable enough to speak.

"Tell me what you felt."

"Huh?" She started involuntarily. Tom balanced himself on the balls of his feet and met her gaze steadily.

"We have to work on this. You know that, so do I. Tell me what you felt when you saw him. No, I'm not asking out of jealousy or anger, I want to know what happened. Trust me on this, not talking does a hell of a lot more damage. Please talk to me. Tell me what's going on in your head."

"Anger." She didn't argue. Would wonders never cease? Or perhaps it was her vulnerability at the moment, which he had every intention of taking advantage of. He remembered their fight before she left the ship for the planet, remembered what he had told her.

Wondered if she remembered. If she even wanted to.

And, somehow, he would have to trust her, and she'd have to trust him, or all the intentions in the world wouldn't help them get through this. Talk. About themselves.

"Frustration." Her voice was low, almost soft but for the underlying malice in it. "Hate. And affection and fear and--" She broke off, shaking her head. He caught her chin, not letting her look away, wondering vaguely to himself where he got the courage to push a Klingon engineer further than she wanted to go.

"What else?" She tried to pull away, one hand on his wrist, tightening slightly. He gritted his teeth. He wasn't afraid of her. "You'll have to break it to make me stop asking, so just tell me."

Her eyes darted back to him, startled, and he tilted his head. Waiting.

"Wanting, and repugnance. It doesn't make any sense, I can't sort it out!" She hadn't let go of his wrist, but she hadn't broken it either, that had to be a good sign.

"It's okay, it'll be hard at the beginning, but you need to think it through. You dreamed last night, do you remember that?"

She swallowed. He took that as an affirmative answer.

"So far so good. B'Elanna, I want you to tell me about the dreams, no matter what, even if you have to wake me up to do it. Okay? When you remember something that bothers you, tell me. If you have a headache, tell me." He smiled at the last. "We've done the emotional distance game, and it didn't help much. We'll try openness, because I don't want you to feel like this. I want to help you, but I can't do a damned thing unless you talk to me."

He still remembered her holodeck times, her addiction, a time he hated to think about at all. Days he'd helped her hide her injuries, fixed her up, never knowing why she was doing it, taking her explanations at face value. Bad explanations in retrospect. But at the time...God, at the time, he'd been glad to get any of her attention, whether it was sex so rough he wondered if anyone could possibly call it lovemaking, or merely running a dermal regenerator over her, fixing her wrist, her ankle, her face, and sending her out to do it again. Of course, she'd never brought him the worst injuries. Not after the first time.

He'd ask the questions again. He'd learned fast not to ask. She'd leave if he did that.

Well, not the same mistake this time, he'd learned. So he took her hand in his, lacing their fingers together, determined to help her in every way he knew how, no matter what it took.

"Start at the beginning, when you saw Harry in the Mess Hall. Just start there, think it through..."

* * *

The first full meeting of the Senior Staff was difficult for everyone.

Captain Janeway and Commander Chakotay, Tom noted, spent most of their time not looking at each other. Harry stared at the table unless asked a direct question by the Captain. Tuvok was as unflappable as ever, as was the Doctor, but neither looked particularly comfortable.

B'Elanna stared directly and intensely into her PADD, answering questions posed to her in her usual sharp manner, eyes staring fiercely over the edge of the PADD as if to challenge anyone who spoke to her.

Tom, head leaned into one palm, tried not to be amused, but he couldn't help it--no one could accuse Tom of having no sense of humor. Harry's low, nearly monosyllabic answers opposed to Tuvok's long, endlessly comprehensive replies, B'Elanna's quick jabs of retorts--and Janeway's unending and all-encompassing patience that was visibly strained.

"Anything from the Conn, Mr. Paris?" she nearly snapped. Tom's head jerked up from his regard of the other occupants of the room, and he shifted in his seat. He'd noticed this, her sudden impatience toward him. With a smile that he knew would set her teeth on edge, he answered. He couldn't help it any more than he could help breathing--damn he was tired of hostility from the recovered crew. Even her.

"The usual, Captain. Absolutely nothing of interest."

Blue-grey eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, before she nodded sharply. She looked around the room for a few seconds before speaking.

"Our biggest worry right now is crew morale, as you are all aware." She glanced at Tom, who put on his most absorbed face and watched her with careful attention. "The crew needs to pull together. I understand the difficulties involved, but in each of your departments I expect you to actively promote re-integration." Her gaze challenged the senior staff to disagree.

"I've had fourteen requests for shift changes," Chakotay said, tapping his PADD with one finger. "Just this morning. I think it would be wise to allow it."

"I don't." Classic Janeway, face a problem head on. Subtlety be damned. Tom leaned forward on both elbows.

"I have to agree with Commander Chakotay, Captain." Blue eyes on him again, not exactly friendly, not overtly hostile, and he strangled a sigh. "Many of those who requested shift changes I have talked to--"_\--_ her eyes narrowed, _That was a mistake, telling her they talked to me first._ "--and I think it would be easier for them, as well as the others involved, to grant the requests."

"I don't. There aren't any easy answers, Tom."

"I don't think anyone is looking for easy answers, Captain." Chakotay caught her gaze. "Just an answer. A stopgap. I've counseled several of the crew for the last week, and I have to admit I don't have any better idea how to deal with the situation. We can't just chain them together and tell them to forget what they went through, both the crew that was infected and the crew left behind." He held her eyes, trying to get his point across, and Tom leaned back in his chair, glad Chakotay was making the argument he would have had to make himself.

Captain Janeway's eyes flickered across the room, taking in the expressions of the staff. Noticed their silent agreement, including Tom's. He braced himself against the mild hostility radiating from her.

_ I shouldn't have said a damned thing._

Finally, the Captain nodded slowly, relaxing into her seat.

"If that is what you think is necessary, Chakotay, authorize the changes. But temporarily. This crew has to start working together, and I expect you all to contribute to the re-integration of the crew." Satisfied, she glanced once more around the room. "Dismissed."

* * *

"She's didn't seem too happy with you, Tom."

To Chakotay's surprise, Tom spun around in the narrow corridor, backing off one step as he did so. An instinctive reaction, Chakotay recognized it from Tom's early days on Voyager, after the crew integration. He'd noted Tom's almost reflexive paranoia in the Maquis, had vaguely wondered what had happened to the young man that made him twitch at unexpected contact. Since that time, he had gained control over his instincts.

Though, apparently, some habits were hard to break.

"I shouldn't have said anything," Tom said finally, and Chakotay found himself fascinated by the body language the young man expressed, the coiled tenseness that hadn't relaxed, the way the blue eyes watched him warily. He and Tom might not have ever been friends, but he had never done anything to merit this suspicion.

Though something was vaguely pushing at the back of his mind. A memory. A corridor.

And it hit, with the force of a disruptor to the head, and he blinked hastily.

"Tom--" But he couldn't think of anything to say to that. Tom hadn't backed away further, seemed comfortable with six full meters of space between them.

"I know it wasn't you," Tom said finally, meeting Chakotay's eyes. Then, oddly, he smiled. With an openness Chakotay hadn't expected from Tom, the younger man continued. "I led a sweeper team after I beamed all of you down to the planet, to get the ones we hadn't been able to find. Corridors make me edgy."

That was interesting. And understandable. But there was something else, something Chakotay had noted since he'd resumed his duties as First Officer. Tom's energy level was incredibly high. Even at rest, he'd noticed Tom twitch at sudden movements, more than edginess would allow for.

"Tom--" They looked at each other for a minute. "I'm sorry about what happened. You never said anything."

Tom shrugged slightly, but the tenseness hadn't relaxed.

"I don't really see the point. One more bad memory for you, why bring it up?" Tom touched his jaw lightly. "That was a hell of a right punch, Chakotay. Remind me not to box against you."

Pure Paris, humor to lighten a situation.

Chakotay wished he could remember what had prompted the attack, but the memory was fuzzy. Maybe nothing. The entity that had held him had been extremely hostile, Chakotay remembered that clearly. He hadn't been able to keep calm, to keep control, as the Captain had suggested.

Maybe the entity had been reacting to Chakotay's own unresolved animosity for the young man. He didn't know.

He wasn't sure he wanted to know. Introspective as Chakotay liked to be, he didn't want to resolve this today. Yet.

"Tom--" he frowned. "I know we aren't the closest friends, but if you need to talk--"

Tom shook his head slowly.

"No. Don't worry, Commander, no hard feelings." He smiled, backing a step down the corridor. "I don't hold a grudge."

And Tom turned away with another quick smile, moving at an easy stride down the corridor, away.

He'd hit Tom, broken his jaw, Chakotay remembered that. The entity had been careful that morning before the mutiny, per the Captain's instructions, trying to be friendly, a thing neither Chakotay nor Tom were used to. That afternoon--

_ Maybe it was seeing Tom still on the ship that triggered the anger._

Chakotay didn't want to examine it further. He looked at the corridor walls, noting the unevenness of the metal, yet to be completely repaired from the on-board fight for control between Tom and his crew and the infected crewmembers. Tom had been remarkably open about everything, but he had glossed over most of what he called the 'sweep efforts' to contain and remove the infected crew.

Tom had entered the turbolift. The young man turned around, facing him briefly, then the doors closed.

Another unresolved issue, as if there weren't enough already. Kathryn and him, for one. He shook his head.

He didn't have time to do everything. He'd handle what he could.

He wondered what Kathryn was doing at that moment. They hadn't really talked since the night before. They would need to, soon. Very soon.

* * *

Captain Janeway gritted her teeth as she sat quietly in her chair, watching the Senior Staff leave, just as if it were any other day on board the starship Voyager.

She was angry with herself.

She knew she had no reason to snap at Tom, but seeing him there, so at ease, so normal, set her nerves on edge. She'd regretted her behavior even as she expressed it.

_ You're acting like he slept with your lover._

She grinned a little bitterly at that.

_ Well, in a way, he did. He had Voyager._

Chakotay's presence had equally unnerved her, and for no good reason. The night before had been everything she hadn't dared even think of for four long years. Everything she had told herself she didn't need.

_ What happened between us had nothing to do with K'eya influence. It was us. We've both wanted this for a long time._

That was true, she wouldn't deny it. Yet--yet why, then, did she feel so uncomfortable, so wrong?

She didn't want to examine it now. There was too much to do, too much to think about; she simply couldn't handle another crisis.

She glanced down at the PADDs on the table in front of her, then gathered them distractedly. She had work to do.

* * * * *

Harry had seen B'Elanna's reaction in the Mess Hall. Knew she had remembered something else. It hurt. God, it hurt more than he could have imagined.

In his quarters, he stared at his clarinet. He wanted to play it, knowing music could take him outside himself, at least for a while, but his hands shook too badly. Gently, he set the instrument down, staring at it as if it had betrayed him. Music had always helped.

But not today.

His door chimed.

And opened. Apparently, someone had taken a page from the Paris Book of Protocol. He spun to see who it was.

"Sue." He couldn't have been more surprised if Tom had shown up again.

She smiled, the door closing behind her, and took a seat on his sofa, eyebrows arched playfully at his expression.

"Hi, Harry."

She had her instructions. Well, Tom hadn't meant it to sound that way, but he'd been in command mode, unconsciously giving her an order, and she'd instinctively obeyed. _Funny, it really was instinctive. I may even have said 'yes, sir'. _ She wondered at his concern a little, noticing how utterly calm he was when telling her what Harry needed.

"You and Harry didn't interact when he was under the influence of that entity. He needs someone to talk to." Leaving out the obvious--that the two people he would have spoken to when upset were the ones who were avoiding him, whom he was avoiding. She, of all the crew, was closest to him. She would have to do.

_ Megan, Jenny, now Harry. Tom working on Gerron and any other crewmember in need of someone to talk to, the rest of us just trying not to flinch when we see them--Joe Carey's been great about helping out, he and Baytart both. And Tom's talked to Megan too, but somehow I don't think it's working well, she's too sensitive to everything right now, and she and Tom were lovers once, a help and a hindrance. How on earth do you talk to an ex about a current lover? But he's in her situation now, I guess that isn't such a surprise she listens to him occasionally. _

Sue hadn't believed it would be easy, the reintegration of a traumatized crew to a traumatized crew. But she had never thought, even during her most cynical moments, that it would be like this. Looking at Harry's sallow face, shadowed eyes, his thick black hair limp and glossless as soot, fingers clenched into tight fists at his side. She fought the same vicious rage that she'd struggled with since the first day the K'eya had invaded them. Harry didn't need to see her anger--he needed to talk.

Reality had been so confused for so long. She wondered if she would ever walk into a room and see her friends again as friends. If there would come a time she'd wake up in the morning without a gasp and a start of fear.

If she would ever go down the hall and not flinch from the sight of people she had helped torture. Not directly, but she'd been witness, asked the questions, even if she had never administered the drug.

She wondered if Tom would ever be able to move on.

She wished she knew.

"Sit down, Har," she said softly, patting the couch invitingly. "Tell me how everything is."

* * *

"B'Elanna, it's just a dream. Wake up." Tom held her hands down carefully, finally forced to use the weight of his body to stop her thrashing. He'd talked to the Doctor earlier that day and gotten her a sedative, but she'd refused to take it. A Klingon thing, he supposed. Or maybe she was punishing herself, he didn't know. He'd heard her scream and jumped off the couch to see her gripped in a nightmare that was twisting her on his bed, trapped in the sheets.

He shouldn't have fixed that. As if she were reliving her experience under IS117, her spine arched underneath him as he tried to keep her down, almost knocking him off his straddled position above her, trying to keep her from hurting herself and him, her wrists becoming slippery with sweat and harder to hold. He'd forgotten how strong she was, easily his match. The low sounds she made hurt to hear. Finally, he pinned her arms beneath his knees and slapped her across the face.

That had been Doctor's best advice. It hurt to do it, but he figured if nothing else...

The shock opened her eyes wide, dark, not recognizing, and he moved quickly, feeling her body tense. He sat on the edge of the bed, watching as she lifted herself on her elbows, breathing hard, face flushed, one cheek dark red with blood. He waited for her to see him.

Finally, she drew a deep, trembling breath, calming herself down. He went to the bathroom, coming back with a wet washcloth and gently patting her face with it. The flush receded slowly, but her reddened cheek did not, and he stifled the spurt of guilt.

"All right. Tell me what it was."

She shook her head.

"I'm not sure."

Tom settled himself. No mistakes this time, he wanted to do this right.

"B'Elanna, give me an idea. Start at the beginning. Tell me what you saw in that dream."

Her eyes narrowed, but Tom didn't bother reacting. He was perfectly prepared to wait all night.

* * *

**0300 hours**

**Present Time**

Sue wasn't surprised Sandrine's was running--in all honesty, she was glad. She checked for a privacy lock, found it was not in use, and walked in.

Tom looked tired; that was the first thing she noticed. Tired in a way she recognized. It had nothing to do with physical exhaustion.

He looked up, seeing her, and motioned her over to the booth. He didn't look particularly surprised to see her either, and she wondered if perhaps he'd been expecting her. She slumped down across from him, taking the glass he offered silently, and downed the blue liquid in one gulp.

"Bad night?" His voice was laced with the thinnest edge of irony.

"All nights are bad nights," Sue said softly, staring at her glass. "No different tonight than any other since we stopped at that fucking planet. Bad nights, bad days, bad

in-between, what do I say?" She took the decanter and filled her glass again. "How's B'Elanna?"

"I gave her a sedative after she went to sleep," he said softly, She was somewhat surprised he was telling her, hadn't expected anymore than a 'fine' or an 'okay'. "It'll keep her sleep dream-free for tonight at least. Or so Doc assured me when he handed it over. He's prescribed a lot of those lately, sleep aides." He sighed, staring at his glass with a wry expression. "Responsible officers don't drink to ease their troubles."

Sue toasted to that and downed the second glass without flinching. she suddenly remembered her hangover from the night before, and the small hypospray Tom had left in her quarters. Megan had told her he had come by with it. It made her grin.

"Is this alcohol or synthehol?" She tapped the glass meaningfully.

"Synth. Too much of the real thing does strange things to my reflexes after a while." He made no move to refill his glass, staring at it with hypnotic intensity. "I want to kill them again. It's not very comforting to see myself in the mirror anymore, you know, seeing that hate, seeing what they did to the crew, to B'Elanna."

"To you."

"Ever one to thrust honesty down another's throat, aren't you, Sue?" His grin wasn't very convincing.

"'Cold hands, cold heart,'" she reminded him with a smile. His grin became more real and he nodded, filling his glass again. "I wish this wasn't real."

"Don't we all." He drank to that, lightly touching his glass to hers. The gentle sound of glass on glass echoed in the still quiet of Sandrine's. She watched him over the rim of her glass.

"You still aren't sleeping, are you?" she asked softly.

"Not well. Nothing life-threatening."

"Is that why you're still using the stims?"

His head came up, eyes wide, and she hid a smile. He didn't bother to deny it.

"Just for a little while more," he said finally. "Not much, anyway. As soon--"

"--as the crew doesn't look at each other suspiciously and make as if to attack at a glance? Are we talking years or decades?"

"You want to poke a fork in me too, and really watch me squirm?" He put his empty glass down, regarding her carefully. She shook her head. The synthehol was getting to her fast.

"Not really. You're too thin to use a fork on." She'd noticed that too, his weight loss.

He shook his head, a smile pulling on his lips despite himself.

"I should be with B'Elanna," he said finally, though he made no move to go.

"I should still be with Harry, but I cheated and gave him a sedative too, he hasn't slept well. Luckily, he didn't argue when I suggested it." She sat her empty glass down and reached for the bottle. "We aren't dealing with this very well, are we?"

"No. I guess we did all right during the crisis, but after? That is always the part everyone disregards, you know, the effects of after." He leaned on one elbow, fiddling with his glass.

"The effects of after." Liking how it sounded. She nodded slowly. "Yeah, I know. How's Gerron?"

"Better than yesterday. He and Megan are going to talk, that's something. They'll survive, I think." Tom glanced at the wine speculatively, then poured half a glass's worth and studied it. "I know, actually. And Jenny? How is she doing?"

"She's started talking to Megan again tonight. It went well, they were both crying and talking at the same time." Sue sipped her synthehol, enjoying the burn on the tip of her tongue. "Tom, do you want to talk about it? Really, you know you can."

"I don't like to do that."

"I know." The edge in her voice caught his attention, and he looked up, meeting her blue eyes with his, eyes that didn't look cloudy from the synthehol at all.

"That's why you left me, isn't it?" he asked finally, calmly. She didn't like where this was going, and tapped her glass nervously. He didn't notice, or pretended not to, anyway.

"We both decided to end it."

"True." He looked back at his glass. "I need to get some sleep. I'll see you later."

She watched him leave, thinking about what he had said.

* * *

"Where were you?"

Tom spun to see B'Elanna sitting on his couch, her face set. She was wrapped up in his blue robe, her feet tucked up under her, watching him in the dark.

"Lights, twenty-five percent," she instructed the computer in an oddly toneless voice. "Where were you?"

"Huh?" It was the best he could do at the moment.

"You left. You've been gone for three hours. Where did you go?" Still in that oddly flat tone that made him want to hide, not a feeling he relished. He wasn't afraid of B'Elanna. He _wasn't_ .

_ That must be the reason you're looking for an exit, hmm?_

Sometimes, he wished that little inner voice would shut up and let him have one decent, comforting fantasy.

"Just out." It suddenly occurred to him that B'Elanna should be asleep. Almost on cue, she tossed something his way, the empty hypospray. It hit his chest, tumbling to the floor with a soft plop. Numbly, he picked it up, fingering it for a moment before tossing it into the recycler.

"You misjudged the amount. The dose you administered was too low for a half-Klingon. Forgot your medical studies already?" Her voice had picked up heat. She stood up, walking up to him, he caught himself backing away until his back made contact with the wall. The brown eyes widened, then narrowed. "Where the hell were you?"

"On the holodeck." Tom rarely lied to his lover. He knew better.

"With Sue." The low voice dropped further, chilling the room.

He stared at her for a long time.

"Like last night." He winced. Wondered how she knew.

_ She's checking up on me?_ Maybe he was supposed to be angry or defensive, but all he felt was an overwhelming sense of tiredness.

"Yeah."

She didn't move for a moment, and he saw her hands were in fists. Her face gave her away, the way she bit her lip, the turn of her shoulders as she moved away. He had no idea what to do. What to say.

"Why?" Her back was to him. It didn't make it any easier.

"Talking."

"In Sandrine's? Drinking, you mean."

"You're keeping tabs on my movements, B'Elanna?" He couldn't even summon up a pitiful offended tone now. Exhaustion seemed to seep through him, and all he wanted in the world was to sit very still for a long time, no thinking, no crisis, and no memories.

"Yes." She turned around, fast, on the ball of her foot, eyes accusing. "You didn't return after an hour, or two, or _three_ and I decided to find out where the hell you were."

"I couldn't sleep."

"And alcohol helps?" Her voice dripped scorn. He couldn't find an answer to that. There wasn't one. Slowly, he moved to the couch, sitting down, burying his head in his hands. He felt her presence rather than saw it.

"Do you hate being here with me that much?"

He lifted his head, fingers twining together loosely.

"No."

"Then what?"

He didn't answer for a long time, staring at her with an intensity she didn't recognize. She could feel his eyes trace her slowly. His face gave away nothing of the thoughts that went on behind his eyes, it rarely did. She waited, watching him, watching those long, graceful fingers twist tighter, knuckles white.

"God, you're beautiful," he whispered, eyes never leaving hers, voice hoarse. "I always think I remember, but when I see you again, memory is nothing in comparison. Every day, every night since...longer than I can remember. I look at you, and I wonder, why are you here, with me? Of all the men on this ship, you wanted me."

He paused again, his head shaking slightly. No more words, and she didn't know what to say to that.

B'Elanna sat down on the coffee table. Looking at him. Tried to piece together what was wrong, separate it from her fading anger, her feelings of betrayal even she knew were stupid, her overwhelming desire to lash out. Instead, she sat in silence, watching him, until he lifted his head again.

"Talk to me."

He smiled a little, unconvincing, and it faded as soon as it began. She reached out, touching his face, and he leaned into her hand for a moment. The slight scratch of a face unshaven since morning, the silky skin beneath.

"You've gone through enough, B'Elanna. You don't need--"

"I need you." He was intensely tactile, something she had learned early on, and had noted on several occasions that he was most likely to talk when being touched. She slipped off the table, climbing into his lap, quite aware of how vulnerable Tom was at that moment, and that she needed to exploit it if possible. And it was possible. She could do this. "I need you to talk to me. I need you to tell me what's wrong. Tell me if you have a bad dream. Or a headache," she added, and was rewarded with a slight, but real, smile. "Talk to me."

He slid his arms around her, leaning into her gently, forehead against her shoulder. Breathing her in.

"You defended me at the Inquiry," he said softly. She stroked his hair, lifting his face for a moment. "Privately, when you talked to Janeway."

She caught herself in a soft laugh. Surprised.

"Did she tell you?"

"No, it was recorded. I was looking for Vorik's testimony and found that record. I think the Captain wanted me to hear it. Your command of Klingon profanity is impressive. I didn't know Klingons had so many variations on a single Standard word."

"You'd be surprised," she answered noncommittally. "Nice jump off the subject, though. Tell me what's going on in your head, why you go to Sandrine's and talk to Sue."

The way she said Sue's name brought his head up again, looking at her with raised brows.

"You don't like her."

"I don't like the way she looks at you."

"She's a friend."

"I'm friends with a lot of people but I don't look at them like that. I'm Klingon, Tom, and a woman. I can feel these things."

Tom considered what she said carefully. B'Elanna could be incredibly intuitive. He wondered what she felt when she looked at him, and resolved, in his own mind, never to let her know, or guess, that he had considered what Sue had offered, consciously or not. A bandage over his tattered emotions, a way to find distraction.

Another step down the path. He shook his head.

"She and John broke up. She needs a friend," he compromised, deciding this was the one thing he didn't need right now. Even to think about.

"She has friends." B'Elanna studied her lover, wondering--and left it there. Because she didn't need to know that. She trusted him not to betray her, or their relationship, but she did wonder if he had been tempted.

As if she had some sort of monopoly on fidelity. She shook her head at the thought.

"Many of them were among those infected." He didn't look at her. She tilted his head up, staring into the impossibly blue eyes.

"You and she were close during what happened, weren't you?" Some things couldn't be ignored. He'd taught her that.

His gaze moved to her shoulder.

"She was Acting First Officer. We had to be."

B'Elanna bit her lip, trying to think of a way to phrase what she suddenly wanted, needed to know. He met her eyes, reading the question in them.

"No. Nothing like that." _Could have been, though. Gods, I could have, she might have, do I really want B'Elanna to hear this? Does she need to hear something like this? What is the right thing to do here?_ He leaned his head against hers, closing his eyes. She pulled gently back, framing his face with her hands, looking at him for a long time, then slowly leaning forward, giving him the option of pulling away. He didn't, let her brush her lips across his, then return, slowly, the gentlest touch. Sweet.

She closed her eyes, felt his fingers in her hair, gently pulling, twisting, deepening the kiss carefully, as if it were the first time he'd kissed her, the first time he kissed anybody, tongue gently brushing across her lower lip, tracing her teeth, then she opened her mouth against the pressure of his, so carefully, wanting him to know she wasn't trying to destroy a memory, that she simply wanted him.

And it felt good.

His free hand caught one of hers, lacing their fingers together gently, and shivered, moving closer to him, arching her back slightly. Felt him pull her closer, one hand flat against her back, supporting her as he leaned her backward

It was a long kiss. Finally, he broke it off, looking into her eyes. A smile turned the corner of his mouth. It made her breath catch, that smile, tender, loving, and pleased. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him smile like that. Tracing her face with one hand, he leaned close again to claim her lips, tasting them deliberately, gently, thumb tracing her cheekbone. She felt his teeth grazing her neck on an achingly slow path to her collar, the brush of his tongue against her jugular, settling at the base of her neck, gently sucking before a crawl back up to her chin, easing her forward so he could kiss her again.

He pulled back again, both their breath coming a little fast, staring at each other. Moving forward to touch again, taste each other, a little less carefully, a little more passionately. He freed her mouth, cupping the back of her head, lips sliding down her neck, tongue brushing her skin. Finally, she felt him stop, breathing heavily against her shoulder.

"God, B'Ela, what you do to me," he murmured. She curled her arms around him, and he lifted his head, his eyes a little dilated, dark as indigo, and she caught her breath.

"Sleep with me. Just sleep," she said softly, in answer to his raised eyebrows. "Is the couch really that comfortable?" His answering smile was reluctant, but it was there, at least.

He kept her gaze firmly locked with his for a few moments, then nodded slowly. Before he could change his mind, she stood up, holding out her hand for him to take, leading him to the bed, then turned to unbutton his shirt. She heard his breath catch at the brush of her fingers against his chest, felt the heat in her own face. The simple, familiar action of undressing him had become unfamiliar, as if she had never done it before, and her fingers trembled at the closure of his pants, freezing there for a moment as she tried to slow her heart.

She couldn't remember the last time they'd actually stopped like this.

His hand brushed hers, then moved around them, unfastening his clothes, letting them fall, stepping back. Looked for a T-shirt, but she stopped him, one hand pressing against his chest.

"Don't." She tried to smile, but she couldn't help staring at him. Her mouth had gone completely dry. _I'm acting like I've never seen him in only shorts before._ She made an effort to regulate her breathing, realized he was doing the same, and giggled softly. "This is ridiculous. I've seen you undressed before."

He laughed with her, and the blue eyes seemed lighter than they had been for a long time.

He watched her shed the robe and noted she was wearing one of his T-shirts, barely brushing the tops of her thighs, and he was reacting to it, wondered how he hadn't noticed before, and then wondered if this was such a good idea.

She turned, crawling into bed, still holding his hand, pulling him behind her. When he settled himself, she curled against him, achingly familiar, one small hand splayed on his chest, her head on his shoulder, some strands of her dark hair tickling his cheek.

Her breathing evened slowly, and, surprisingly, so did his. He felt pleasantly sleepy, the comforting smell of her around him. Breathed her in, winced in some humor as his body reacted to her closeness, and thought he heard a suspicious giggle. He tilted her face up.

"You're laughing at me."

"Well, actually at both of us," she whispered, eyes dancing, and he liked that, her sudden, easy humor, the dark lifted from her eyes, at least temporarily. Her mouth twitched, and they both burst into laughing, Tom rolling on his stomach to bury his head in the pillow to muffle himself, B'Elanna helplessly leaning against his back, tears leaking from her eyes.

When they finally slept, curled against each other, B'Elanna did not dream.

She forgot he hadn't talked.


	7. Closure

**0200 hours - Present Time**

"Computer, location of Lieutenant Susan Nicoletti?"

:::Lieutenant Nicoletti is in Holodeck 2.:::

* * *

Sue took a long drink from her glass, staring off into space, thoughtful. Sandrine's was dark, barely at half-lights. As she shifted on the barstool, she thought about exactly what she was doing here.

Actually, it was who she was waiting for.

She told herself she came here for a drink after another long day. Even to herself, the excuse sounded weak. She wanted to see Tom.

_ Stupid._ Definitely that. Stupid and very wrong, but she couldn't resist the temptation, no matter how much she tried. She wanted to be here, to see him at his most vulnerable, and maybe, this time, when he looked at her, he wouldn't leave. Maybe he would touch her face again, and she'd lean into the caress, look into those blue eyes...and he would stay. For her.

Maybe.

The holodeck doors slid open, and Sue resisted the urge to turn around and look. She took another short drink, bracing herself.

He didn't say anything as he joined her at the bar, taking the glass she offered, giving her a tired smile. He downed the amber liquid in one gulp, staring into the dark recesses of the area behind the bar, and she laid her hand on his limp one, squeezing gently. The bones under her fingers seemed suddenly fragile.

"You okay?"

He looked at her, blue eyes meeting hers, then turned toward her, lifting her hand to his cheek for a moment. She could feel the day's growth of beard against her palm, and rubbed softly, feeling him lean into the caress.

"Better now." He reached out with his other hand, cupping her face, thumb smoothing across her cheekbone with incredible gentleness, before leaning forward, brushing his lips across hers, then drawing back suddenly, eyes wide.

"I shouldn't have done that." But he didn't let her go, simply looked at her, and this time she leaned forward, gently pressing her mouth to his, feeling him respond. One arm slid around her as he cradled her close, pulling her off the barstool and into his lap, his hand laced through her hair. Quickly, he unfastened her shirt to the waist, cupping her breast lightly through her bra. He turned them so she leaned against the bar, mouth locked on her neck as she slid her fingers gently around his neck. His hand slid down her thigh, then back up to her hip. Taking her breath.

"Tom..." she whispered.

"Hey, Sue."

Sue spun around at the sound of that voice. Her breath froze in her throat. She blinked, adjusting herself to the here and now, realizing that she must have been deep in her fantasy not to have realized who was standing there.

Hell, it had been real. _So damned real._

B'Elanna was leaning against the door, dressed in a simple dark tunic and pants, her uniform boots for some reason working well with the outfit. Her hair was loose around her face, her brown eyes mild and face relaxed. There had been no malice in the soft voice. Nothing threatening in her comfortable posture, arms crossed across her chest. An attitude she'd picked up from Tom; Sue couldn't count the times she'd seen Tom stand like that, a cocky grin turning his lips.

"B'Elanna." She tried to think of more words, but there weren't any. She stared, swallowing hard, remembering last night, when Tom had left with that cryptic statement. Wondering why she was so nervous, as if she had done something wrong. She hadn't. She _hadn't._

Yet. _Only in my mind, Chief._

With her normal stride, B'Elanna joined her at the bar, pouring a glass of the dark gold sherry Sue had replicated. She took a sip, studying Sue over the rim of the glass for a moment, then took another sip. Her expression was thoughtful as she glanced down at the liquor

"Not synthehol? I'm surprised." She set the glass on the bar, not moving her fingers from it, and Sue saw the strain of tendons, wondered if B'Elanna was going to break it with one hand. The woman's face was profiled to her now.

"Tom told me you and John have called it quits." It was a good way to start the conversation; Sue gave her points for striking at a weak spot.

"Yeah." Sue drained her glass and poured more. "It wasn't working out, it hasn't been for awhile. I suppose this was as good a reason as any to call it quits." Giving a sidelong glance to the quiet Chief Engineer. She was so still, so quiet, like at the Inquiry, so much different from how she'd been before. Living energy leashed, always, but not now. It was more disconcerting than having B'Elanna interrupt her daydream. _Almost._

"I thought you were happy together." B'Elanna fingered her glass gently before taking another drink. She still wasn't looking at Sue.

"We had a lot of problems from the beginning." Wondered why she was telling B'Elanna this.

Then knew why, if the barest stiffening of muscles beneath the tunic was any indication. _What the hell am I doing? He's not mine, never will be, what makes me think I would ever be more than a distraction? Why am I here?_

"Sometimes it's worth the time it takes to fix them." B'Elanna turned now, eyes veiled, and at this unfortunate moment Sue noted the very slightly predatory look on the other woman's face. Remembered belatedly that this woman's heritage was from a species with the instincts and reflexes of a hunter.

A woman who could fight and win against a Vulcan. Geez. _What the hell am I doing?_

"You want him." It wasn't a question. Her voice was still expressionless. Another mannerism of Tom's. Sue wondered if B'Elanna even knew how much she had adopted from him.

_ B'Elanna is not noted for her diplomacy._

"It's not--"

"I'm not stupid or blind." Sue noted, with a kind of fascination, how tightly B'Elanna gripped her glass. "Don't try it. Don't even think about it."

Sue swallowed the last of her sherry into a dry throat, almost choking. Her fingers trembled; she forced them flat on the bar.

"You've met him here for two nights. Drinking. Talking, I suppose. I don't care what about, I don't want to know."

B'Elanna finished her glass and turned to look at Sue. There was no mistaking the naked threat conveyed by the cool brown eyes.

"We are going to pull through this, Nicoletti. No matter how much you want him, how much you think he may want you. We are going to work through this, so leave him alone."

Sue felt herself bristle.

"Isn't this his decision?" _What the hell am I doing? Am I crazy?_

B'Elanna stood up, and suddenly her small frame seemed larger, more intimidating, the chill brown eyes focused on her to the exclusion of all else. Yet so still, as if waiting for something to give her a reason to react. Sue's mouth was completely dry. She grabbed her glass, taking a drink, hoping she wasn't shaking. _Is it cold in here?_

"He's tired, he's been through more than I or you can guess. I know him. If he--if he did turn to you, you'd both be hurt, and not just because of what I would do to you, Nicoletti. He doesn't need it."

"After what happened with Harry--" Sue began hotly.

Sue never saw the hand raise, but she found herself on the floor with a throbbing face. B'Elanna hadn't seemed to move a muscle, watching her from the other side of the bar stool. Calmly, controlled, no flash of pure Klingon violence. Sue tasted blood on her tongue.

"Don't push me, Nicoletti. I lost a lot of my human heritage under the influence of that parasite. I will be _damned_ if I let you take advantage of him now. And that is exactly what you'd be doing. You know it as well as I do. Back off, let him re-acquaint himself with normal life. Let him learn to forget, or at least put everything into perspective, or you're no better than those parasites that used our minds like a playground. You'd use him."

Sue shook her head slowly, denying what B'Elanna said, but in her heart--she wasn't so sure. Her face throbbed in counterpoint to those cool words. She gingerly felt her jaw. It wasn't broken, but it was certainly swollen. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to catch her breath, even it out. Trying not to be afraid.

This was not the B'Elanna she knew. Nothing like her. No heat of temper that would burn itself out quickly, no flares of humor. This was B'Elanna with a purpose, with a cause, all the layers of Starfleet officer peeled away.

This was the woman who killed Cardassians in the Maquis. Who killed a psychotic radioactive monster in the bowels of an alien ship. Reminding Sue that of all the people on this ship, B'Elanna Torres was the one whose heritage glorified the art of honorable death.

Or honorable murder. Take your pick. She didn't answer B'Elanna, instead focused on her pain.

"Leave him alone." And B'Elanna was gone. Sue picked herself up shakily, walking to the barstool.

* * *

She re-entered the room quietly, undressing and putting her clothes away quickly before putting on one of his T-shirts, her favorite sleeping apparel. Slowly, she walked to the couch, watching him sleep, then sat on the coffee-table.

_ Well, that was stupid as all hell. Like a jealous wife._

She lowered her head to her hands, breathing deeply. Damned temper. B'Elanna had never followed the "look before you leap" principle of life. She preferred more direct methods of confronting external problems.

And God, it had felt good to get back control of her life. Just to settle one thing, one concrete thing she could do something about. One thing she could see, one thing that didn't exist only in memory.

Something to focus her rage on. And if she'd overreacted--well, toss it to Klingon genes and leave it there. She didn't care. Finally, she'd done _something_ besides stew in her own anger and helplessness.

It had felt pretty damned good, too.

She let her gaze move back to Tom. He looked exhausted even in sleep, something she hadn't noticed before. _Well, I haven't exactly spent a lot of time sleeping with him, either, and he usually goes to sleep after I do._ But tonight, he hadn't gone to the Holodeck, that had to mean something. When she'd risen to confront a problem that existed outside her mind, he'd been sleeping. Here.

Not awake, on the Holodeck, with Sue.

She bit her lip. He would never betray her. Never.

_ In normal circumstances, no, probably not. But this isn't even close to normal._

Her reasons for that little chat with Sue had been more than just jealousy, though. She knew Tom, understood him a great deal better than he knew. She could see, in the space of those seven days, how he might be tempted by Sue, after seeing her and Harry, after everything that had happened. Jeopardy, she knew, could create quite a bond between two people.

In this case, however, she had no intention of letting it go any further than it had. She didn't really think Tom would pursue such an action. But she wasn't nearly as confident that Sue wouldn't.

She shook his head. He was trying to protect her, care for her, help her get better. The least she could do was do the same for him. Even if it had to be from himself. He'd gone through enough.

She watched him sleep for a long time, bracing herself for what she was going to do. The Klingon in her was ready, the human was not. _Stop separating your genome, B'Elanna. This is not the time for internal debate. Do it or don't. Make a decision for once in your life without being forced into it._

Well, that certainly put things in perspective.

She shifted him over (the couch was wide enough, thank goodness) until a reasonable space was formed. Gently, she curled up with him, pulling the blanket over them both, sliding one leg over his to keep her position and burying her face against his shoulder, breathing him in slowly, deeply. One arm sleepily pulled her close, and she smiled as fingers brushed her cheek.

"You know there is a whole bed over there, right?" His voice was a sleepy chuckle. He drew her closer, the other arm going around her, pulling her tight against him. She brushed her fingers through his short hair.

"No, I didn't. You mean this isn't the bedroom?"

He laughed again, softly, turning his head and their lips touched. B'Elanna felt herself shiver at the contact, felt him pull back, meeting her eyes, and the look burned into her. She hadn't seen that look in so long--her breath stopped, and she could hear her heartbeat increase suddenly, pounding against her chest.

For a moment, neither moved; then suddenly, he was kissing her, pressing her deep into the couch, his whole weight on top of her, and she clutched at his back, nails digging in to the T-shirt before she pulled it up, out of the way, she wanted to touch bare skin. He quickly removed it, and hers, hands sliding down to her thigh, pulling it up roughly against his hip, bringing them into intimate contact with each other. He kneaded the firm flesh of her leg before sliding one hand gently up to her face, locking her chin in place, his mouth moving down her cheek to her neck, lightly biting. She caught her breath at the feel of his teeth on her shoulder.

Suddenly, he stopped, and an odd smile turned his mouth as he looked down at her.

"You set me up."

She blinked and felt his hand sliding down her hip, encountering no resistance before slipping between her legs. She caught her breath at the feel of his fingers, lightly caressing.

"You aren't wearing underwear."

And she laughed suddenly, intoxicated by his smile, the way he was looking at her, the feel of his fingers caressing her so gently--and the sudden strength he took her mouth with, scraping by her teeth to run across her tongue, and she pressed one hand into his hair, gripping tight, using her other hand to push his shorts down, her foot to push them off, then slipping it around his waist, settling them together, and she heard him groan softly.

"Yeah," she murmured, a smile curling the corners of her mouth. "Did it work?"

"Oh, yeah," he breathed, kissing her again, pressing against her as she repositioned herself against his hand, closing her eyes at the feel of skilled fingers. Her breath came faster, harder, a light gasp, and she caught his other hand in hers, caressing the palm with her thumb. He grinned against her mouth, and in that grin was something she hadn't seen for awhile.

Tom wanted to play.

He flipped them both over so she straddled him, pulling her head down so his breath brushed her lips, their eyes meeting.

"Are you still ticklish?"

Her eyes widened as he found that particular spot under her ribs, and as his fingers touched the skin, she broke into laughter. She bit down into his chest, enjoying his low groan (she knew it wasn't pain) and the way his fingers tightened on her hip before sliding over her breast, making her breath draw sharply. She nuzzled his neck, squealing when he tickled her again, and finally grabbed his hands, pinning them near his ears, putting her full weight on them. Gave him a wicked grin.

"Ticklish? If I remember correctly--"

"You wouldn't dare." His eyes challenged her.

"Never challenge a Klingon, Tom," she whispered, inching his hands above his head until she could catch both in one hand--she wouldn't be able to hold him like that long, but long enough. As quickly as she could, she slipped her other hand down to his waist, catching the skin there with her nails, and then brushed his side with the lightest touch of the tips of each fingers.

It felt good to hear him laugh like that.

He freed his hands, blocking her hands from further contact as best he could, rolling onto his side and almost depositing her on the floor. Then he turned them both and she found herself trapped under him again, both of them giggling, until Tom's hand slipped down, and she sucked in a long breath as his long fingers caressed her. God, she wanted him.

"You seem ready," His voice a low growl against her ear.

"Like you wouldn't believe," she whispered back, settling her hips and reaching down to guide him in. He murmured something as he completed the stroke, and she arched her back, trying to pull him in deeper, tightening her legs around his waist. " God, Tom." Brown eyes locked into blue. She wrapped both arms around his neck, drawing his mouth down, pushing his lips apart hard, exploring his mouth with light darts of her tongue. "I've missed you."

"That's it, sweetheart," he whispered when a move of her hips brought a gasp. She leaned up to gently bite his chin.

"Sweetheart?" She caught her breath softly. He licked along her jaw, bit down into her shoulder, feeling her shudder beneath him.

"Term of endearment," he muttered in a staccato voice, his breath coming faster, though she could tell he was trying to draw it out. "You--have--a preference?" He cradled her head with one hand, brushing his tongue just around her lips, then traveling to her ear.

"B'Elanna?" she suggested, and he grinned, shifting his movements, drawing out a growl from deep in her throat. He bent to kiss the soft flesh there, biting the long column of her neck, before lifting his head again.

"How--about--baby?" he rasped.

"I--don't think--so," she answered shortly, pulling his head down for a kiss, biting his lip a little too hard, feeling the blood well up, and licked it away. "This is _good_ , Tom."

"Thanks. I--aim to please." His chuckle was lost as she tightened her legs suddenly, feeling his body shiver.

"Faster," she breathed. Pulling him closer, she looked into his eyes. Saw the same intentness. "Now, Tom."

The way he looked at her took her breath away. She wondered what he saw when he looked at her, what it was in her face that she never noticed when she looked in the mirror. It couldn't be what she saw every day. It couldn't be, or he'd never look at her like that, with wanting, with need, with such incredulous wonder. As if she were something precious, something wonderful.

He braced their joined hands against the couch, leaning down to kiss her, sliding one arm under her shoulder, cradling her close. Then moved into her hard, making her gasp, neck arching, staring into those impossibly blue eyes.

"I'd do anything for you, B'Elanna," he murmured, his hand under her head, lifting it slightly as he moved again, picking up speed, not letting her look away. Watching, feeling her reaction. Her eyes closed, and he stopped. "Don't close your eyes. Look at me. Don't look away, not ever." Brown eyes locked into his again, and he thrust into her, drawing out a low cry from his lover, felt her nails dig deep into his back. She caught his mouth in a hard kiss. His teeth sank into her lower lip then pulled back, and he met her eyes again. That intense look on his face as he watched her react to him, to what they were doing.

Close. She knew she was close, and locked her ankles around his back, meeting each thrust. _God._ So was he, his breathing told her that, but she didn't look away from him. No longer wanted to.

When the moment came, for both of them, he whispered something against her ear, just before her body took her mind, washing her into her climax.

She wasn't sure, ever afterward, what he said, nor did she ever ask him.

But she thought he said 'I love you.'

* * *

"You did _what_ ?"

B'Elanna rolled over on the bed, where they'd finally moved, staring at the ceiling.

"I hit her."

Tom took a steadying breath, reminding himself he was a Starfleet officer, he had to keep his temper in check.

"Why?"

B'Elanna shook her head, and Tom raised himself on one elbow, turning her chin so he could look at her.

"You don't see it, do you?" she said softly. He looked away, and she bit her lip. "You know what I'm talking about. You do see it."

"It isn't--I mean--" He stopped, mouth tightening.

"I'll apologize," she said finally. His mouth quirked a little. "Tomorrow."

"Can I record it for posterity? I doubt that will _ever _ be seen again." She hit his head with the pillow and he pretended to wince. "You should apologize. She's never done anything inappropriate."

"Hmmm." B'Elanna remembered the look on Sue's face when she'd walked into the Holodeck.

"I wouldn't betray you." His hand curved around her face gently, and with the words, he knew it was true. He wouldn't. Not for any reason, ever.

_ Would you have, during those days the K'eya had her?_

I didn't. I had opportunity, and I didn't.

But you thought about it.

Thinking stupid things and doing them are very different.

He looked at her, the caramel face, the dark eyes that stared into his, the way she bit her lower lip as he looked at her. Wondered if there was anything in the universe that would make him risk what he had with B'Elanna.

_ Probably not._

"That doesn't mean she wouldn't try to tempt you to." B'Elanna could be unsurprisingly stubborn. He sighed and shook his head.

"No. She wouldn't." Tom smiled, brushing his fingers along her cheek carefully, watching her close her eyes, leaning into the caress. "You remind me of a cat sometimes, you know."

"Really?" She didn't open her eyes, and her voice was a low murmur. He leaned forward, brushing his lips against her throat, and her neck arched gently against him. Damn, she tasted good. He brushed the skin beneath her ear with his tongue, feeling the indentations his teeth had made earlier, and grinned slightly. Made him want to find the other marks, see how they felt, how they tasted. "How?"

_ Huh? Oh, yeah, cat._

"The way you move when I touch you." The feel of a day's growth of beard tickled her shoulder, and she lazily slipped a hand around his neck, stroking lightly. "Are you tired?"

One eye opened, regarding him for a moment. She certainly didn't look tired.

"Not at all." A purr that sent shivers up his spine as her hand tightened, pulling him down to her lips. His low chuckle as he obliged made her smile too.

Not tired at all.

* * *

Later that night, Tom woke up to watch her sleep.

It wasn't unusual, in their relationship. Those first early days, when she'd shared his bed, he had watched her sleep for hours, with a sense of disbelief, because this just _couldn't_ be happening; she couldn't be here with him. Watching her breathe, the way she shifted in her sleep. Memorizing everything because there might not be a next time, and he wanted every minute, every second, burned deep into his memory.

That sense of wonder had never completely diminished, and he suspected it probably never would.

He raised himself on one arm, studying her face. Wondered if tonight would bring another nightmare. She'd had too many already, he hated to see it, hated to watch her relive the K'eya. Maybe he'd exhausted her.

Hell, she'd exhausted him. He couldn't sleep, but he certainly didn't want to move.

Especially now that he knew what the subject matter was.

One hand slipped over to brush her hair back from her face. A very slight smile faintly turned her lips and she sighed in her sleep. No one slept quite like B'Elanna, like an exhausted child, totally defenseless. It was endearing, one hand curled under her cheek, the other clutching loosely at the blanket.

Nothing outside the bed seemed to matter as much anymore. Not the memories of what he had done, what she had been forced to do--it was distant.

And God, he had missed her. Not just their physical encounters, but simply sleeping next to her. The relatively simple pleasure of watching her laying with such utter trust beside him.

He glanced at the chronometer, sighing softly. Two more hours until he went on shift.

* * *

**Alpha Shift**

Tom went to shift early, as had become his new habit, one B'Elanna could not quite figure out. She stepped into the shower, liking the feel of the sonics cleaning her, relaxing each aching muscle.

Aching for the right reasons. She smiled at that, the memory still fresh. Very fresh. She couldn't remember Tom being quite so--enthusiastic--in a long time.

And energetic. She'd fallen asleep before he did. Unusual.

As she got out, she kicked something from beneath her foot and grabbed her robe, pulling it on, before turning to fix her hair. Glanced down to see what she had kicked.

An empty hypospray.

A long moment. _Why is there a hypospray on the floor?_

She knelt to pick it up, noticing the cabinet beneath the sink was ajar. It must have fallen out, maybe that was where Tom had moved his medical supplies. She picked up the hypospray, preparing to put it back in the cabinet.

Then played with it for a moment.

It had been used. Recently. Very recently, if she was any judge. Maybe this morning. She studied it, looking at the residue inside, then sat on the floor and took Tom's medkit out and checked through it. She wasn't seeing a certified field medic for nothing, she knew exactly what belonged there.

Nothing was missing. She frowned, knowing there was something here she just couldn't see. Still holding the hypospray, she sealed the kit up and put it back, then walked into the living room.

Glanced at the replicator.

Using her authorization as Chief Engineer she made to a very simple request of the replicator. Her eyes widened at its reply.

* * *

"Open this damned door, Vorik!"

Vorik answered, in uniform--_Does he sleep in the damn thing? I know he isn't on shift until beta.--_ trying with almost pitiful determination to keep an impassive expression at the sight of B'Elanna, in a _robe,_ at his door, looking fierce. She pushed him aside, letting the doors close, and a PADD was immediately thrust under Vorik's elegant nose.

He glanced at it once, then at B'Elanna. Blinked. Tried to reconcile the robe to the Chief Engineer.

"That is the program I used to break the replicator codes," he said. B'Elanna's eyes narrowed.

"I _know_ that. Does it also remove the replication log?"

Vorik's finely arched eyebrows jumped.

"Not exactly, sir. It encrypts the log."

B'Elanna ground her teeth, but she didn't lose her temper. _He's a Vulcan. He's very literal. Spell it out._

"I could see every replicator item I ordered, Vorik. Does it encrypt specific substances?"

"Yes."

B'Elanna took a calming breath and resisted the urge to just pick him up and _shake_ him until he told her what she wanted to know.

"Tell me what substances."

"IS117, sir."

B'Elanna stared at him for a long time while she counted to ten. Slowly.

"What--else?" She ground the words out with careful precision.

Vorik looked thoughtful, apparently trying to understand what it was she was getting at. She gave up.

"Can that program be used to replicate _anything_ , and encrypt the logs?"

Vorik nodded, now comprehending. That was something, it saved him from being tossed against the wall.

"Yes, sir. The algorithm--" a wave of her hand cut him off. She understood the theory. She stared off to the area to the left of his shoulder.

"I can't access those encrypted files, Vorik, even with my clearance. Break into them and tell me what was replicated this morning." With enough time, B'Elanna knew she could have done it, but she didn't have that kind of time now. She had an idea, however, of what was on those encrypted files and couldn't believe she hadn't realized sooner. _Blind, willfully, selfishly blind, I didn't even notice..._

Vorik nodded with a Vulcan composure that made B'Elanna want to feed him that PADD and crossed to his terminal to begin his work.

* * *

When B'Elanna returned to Tom's quarters, she remembered she was still wearing her robe, and the hypospray was in the pocket. Vaguely, with one part of her mind, she thought she should be embarrassed. Crewmembers passed with averted eyes. She couldn't really summon the energy to care. On a PADD clutched in one had, she carried those lost logs, and every once in awhile she would pause, staring at them for a long moment, counting the days, the dates; a mantra.

Unable to believe she hadn't realized. That no one had. Even guessed.

Or if they had, they sure hadn't done a damned thing about it.

All those sleepless nights. Or nights with barely any sleep. Spent on the Holodeck with Sue, on late shifts. And last night--

_ Blind. Oh, yeah._

And there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it until after Beta shift.

"Damn!" The doors closed behind her as she stepped into the living room, staring at the replicator. The logs kept excellent track of the amounts he requested each time, steadily larger, though, as yet, not quite at the lethal level.

Stimulants. She should have guessed, just from the way he looked. The way he was acting.

She dropped onto the couch, staring at the PADD but no longer really seeing it.

Only one thought ran through her head.

_ I should have known. I should have known. I should have known..._

What she didn't know was what to do about it.

* * *

**Gamma Shift**

B'Elanna walked in to see Tom reading something on a PADD. He looked comfortable, laying on his couch, knees drawn up slightly, absently chewing on what appeared to be bubble gum (she knew he had a weakness for it). His hair was slightly ruffled (_How can anything that short look rumpled?_ ) and he was dressed in his favorite off-duty clothes, jeans and a grey T-shirt that never failed to make her mouth water.

"Tom."

He looked up, blinking to see her, then checked the time, a smile turning his mouth.

"Hey. I didn't realized how late it was." He didn't move, however, just looked at her for a long time. Studied her face.

"You found the hypospray."

It would never cease to amaze her, how he did that. She nodded, slowly going to sit down across from him. He still didn't move.

"How did you know?" She couldn't hide her surprise.

"You decrypted the logs. I found them when I was getting dinner." He was watching her, studying her, and the coolness of his eyes was a contrast to that slight smile.

_ He's angry._

"How long, Tom?" _When all else fails, attack._

"The day after the mutiny." He shifted, putting the PADD down on the floor. "I couldn't perform interrogations and do everything else that needed to be done in the time allotted. Doc gave me the first dose."

Somehow, she had expected him to be defensive. Not this cool, matter-of-fact explanation.

"After that, I administered the doses to the crew to kill the K'eya, and that took three days, around the clock. I couldn't stop then during that. I'm the only medic on board besides Doc."

She felt her nails digging deep into her palms.

"Now--well, I guess I really don't have an excuse for now. Habit."

"You need to stop."

"I know."

Nothing else. She didn't know where to go now. She hadn't expected this, and yet--it wasn't unexpected. Tom was so deeply inside himself right now, he didn't want to fight--more, he didn't want to talk, and she would love to meet the person who could make Tom talk when he didn't want to.

Where the hell to go from here? Go back to mundane tasks, as if nothing out of the ordinary had been said? Maybe ask about dinner, or some time on the Holodeck? Maybe just sit here in uncomfortable silence until one of them gave in.

He wouldn't. She knew that. Just by the way he sat on the couch.

"Do you really think the only reason I am with you is sex?"

A flicker in clear blue.

"You remember that."

"I remember _everything_ , Tom."

He swiveled his feet onto the floor, one hand on each knee, regarding her carefully.

"No. I was angry."

"Yeah," she answered softly. "Angry, I noticed that. How angry, Tom?"

He blinked. She kept her satisfaction carefully hidden. He hadn't expected this change in tactics.

"I was sorry within a few hours," he answered slowly. "You'd already gone planetside."

"With Harry." Again, a flicker. She pressed a little harder. "It was interesting, you know. I can remember that, the transition. It only took two hours for all of us to be--how would Seven put it?--assimilated. We didn't even know what was happening to us, just that we were suddenly doing things we had no control over. The difference between them and me, was I remember past the transition. Every damned thing that happened. Every second it was in me. Except when it slept, and I slept too, and we dreamed together. You scared her, Tom. You scared the K'eya in me. In the Brig, she had nightmares. About you."

Tom didn't answer.

"I could hear you interrogate the other prisoners." His head came up sharply. "You did that on purpose, right, so she--it--whatever the hell it was--could hear what you were doing, what you would do to her. If she didn't tell you what you wanted to know. She couldn't tell you because she didn't know."

"What are you doing?" he answered, voice dangerously low. "Do you think you were the only one who suffered? Janeway, all of you--do you think everything was easy for us up here, without you?"

"No, I don't. I know it wasn't, Tom." He'd cracked. Just a little. But enough. This time, this one time, she'd do this right, be what he needed. No pulling away, no distance, no letting him draw himself up into himself, ignore the problem.

"Are you going to stop using the stims?" she asked. The changes in topic were deliberate; she wanted to keep him off-balance. Unsure. Surprisingly, it was working.

"Yes."

"When?"

Eyes narrowed again.

"Now."

She tossed the PADD she'd kept in her uniform jacket at him, and his incredible reflexes allowed him to catch it easily. He glanced at it cursorily, then, a slight frown marring his brow, read it again.

"It's the proper name of your stimulant. Street version, right? Though you made it a hell of a lot purer than you'd get on the street." He looked at her, blank. She smiled gently. "You don't think I've been there, Tom? On the streets? What the hell do you think I did between Starfleet Academy and joining the Maquis?"

Unblinking regard that seemed to last a lifetime. She let him look. Watched the thoughts that spun in his head.

"What did you do?" His voice was so low she barely heard it.

"Survived." They looked at each other. "I should have guessed what you were doing sooner, you know. I've seen the effects among the Maquis, truth be told. Mood swings, though with you--well, its harder to see, you keep such good control. Not eating. Not sleeping. Going to duty early--for you, that is right up there with a scream for attention, isn't it?"

He didn't answer, still holding her in that unblinking regard, PADD clenched tight between his fingers. The metal would bend under that kind of pressure soon. She kept her distance from him, knowing instinctively he needed space now.

He hadn't dealt with what happened. Not yet, no time. Well, she was _making_ time. Too damned bad if Janeway needed him for something else, or Sue wanted another heart-to-heart, or the crew was having adjustment problems. They could damn well fend for themselves. Was she the only one who saw what he was going through?

"Tom, how did you learn about IS117?" A shudder, well-concealed but still caught by her careful eye, ran through him.

"After Caldik Prime." His voice so low, hard to hear. She wanted to move closer, but couldn't. She couldn't break his concentration, when he was opening himself up. It had been sixteen hours since his last dose, unless he had gone to another replicator, and she doubted that. He'd want to cover his tracks. It should be diluted enough in his system to keep him off-balance, vulnerable. _No mistakes, B'Elanna. Watch your step._

"What happened?"

"I'm an Admiral's son, B'Elanna, whether my father wanted to remember that or not. A former Starfleet officer." A bitter laugh, mocking himself.

"They thought you would willingly betray the Federation?" She tried to imagine that, couldn't.

"No. They never thought that." She frowned, trying to understand. He wasn't seeing her at all now, looking over her shoulder with an expression she didn't recognize. Wasn't even sure she _wanted _ to recognize.

It came like a bolt of lightning. Her mouth went dry.

"It was used on you." Her nails broke the skin of her palms, blood bubbling around her fingertips.

"Admiral's son," he whispered. He wasn't in the room with her anymore. "That's what they called me. They wanted any knowledge I might have; after all, Dad was involved in the war with Cardassia. And disgraced Starfleet officer--who would notice or care what happened to me?

"There were Maquis with me there. They were rescued and so was I. They didn't differentiate between the captives. Soon after, I met Chakotay. He needed a pilot for a mission and, I jumped at the chance."

She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Hands still clenched into tight fists.

"That's how I knew to use it. Cardassia adapted that particular drug to function on a wide variety of humanoid species. I did the analysis on it after Vorik got it out of the replicator, and it worked just beautifully with enhanced human/K'eyan physiology." His voice was toneless. "The first drug I tried was a Federation-approved version, used to treat epilepsy. It worked on Ricarla pretty damned well, but the doses I administered to keep her "distracted" were dangerously high. So I decided to find the Cardassian version, with its lower doses and greater potency. Tested it on crewmembers until I found the right dosage. Enough to keep them talking but not so much they couldn't do anything except scream."

B'Elanna closed her eyes at the thoughtful bitterness.

"I used it on my prisoners for three days. And I liked it, B'Elanna. I liked hurting them after everything they'd done to us. It was so natural. I taught Ayala how to do it, to give the correct doses, ask the right questions. I taught Vorik to do it, too. Even Sue learned. I influenced the crew to approve of my methods. Approve of them, B'Elanna. Not tolerate. _Approve_ ." She shivered at the low intensity of his voice.

Her mouth was dry; she'd never wanted a glass of water so much in her life. Scratch that--she wanted something harder. Something to knock her senseless. _This is what I wanted. Him to talk. He's talking, all right._

"They looked to me to lead them, and I did. I certainly led them, didn't I? And it all worked out. Ends justified the means, you know. The crew is free of infection, with some bad memories, but that's all. No one died, a miracle there. And the Captain tells me she's proud of me. God, B'Elanna. _Proud_ ."

The blue eyes were so dilated they seemed black. He thought she didn't understand. Couldn't understand, maybe, how he felt, what he had done, what path he had chosen to take.

He didn't believe, even now, how much he had changed and how far he had come. She had no idea how to make him understand. _Like me. I never realized it before. But there it is._

She unclenched her hands unconsciously, rubbing her palms into the arm of the chair.

"What the _hell _ did you do?"

It was so fast, she couldn't quite catch up with him. He knelt in front of her, turning her hand over, running his fingers over the torn flesh of her palms, then looked at her. She was kind of surprised herself, belatedly noticing the streaks of blood on the chair arms. He had her other hand now, blood smearing the fingers that touched her. Eyes wide, slightly blank. She closed her fingers over his, and he looked up.

"I just used a knife," she whispered. Her voice seemed very far away, dreamy. "That's all. We couldn't afford drugs, or much of anything, but a disrupter was too messy, wasn't precise enough for what we needed to do. Required frequent medical attention, and anyway, that wasn't my thing."

"B'Elanna?" His voice was hoarse.

"They had Maquis prisoners, caught in a raid in the DMZ. We had to find them." She felt Tom's hands tighten on hers. "It took almost two days to make the Cardassians talk. A society like theirs has a lot of resistance to pain. But one finally broke. Finally. Half the Maquis in that pod were dead when we finally found them, but at least we got some of them out." She looked down at Tom, still holding her hands. "You didn't think I could understand. I do."

She felt his hair brush her palms as he lowered his head, slowly, into her lap, breathing deeply. His hands tightened on hers.

"We're not so different, huh?" she whispered, lowering her head so she could speak near his ear. "When I told you I wouldn't have done a damned thing differently, I meant it. Not--one--damned--thing."

Neither moved. She freed one hand, gently brushing her fingers across Tom's head, caressing his neck gently, letting him take it in.

Needed. Finally, Tom needed her. Not wanted her, or cared for her, but needed her. For comfort, for redemption, maybe, or just to listen. It was a heady feeling, making her light-headed, making her smile despite what had been said. Needed _her_ .

Finally, Tom stood up, pulling B'Elanna up with him, taking her to the bathroom. They both sat on the floor while he ran the dermal regenerator over her palms.

And he took her face between his blood-streaked hands, looking into her eyes, as the cold tile chilled their legs though their clothes.

"I don't know what to do, B'Elanna."

She leaned forward, resting her head against his shoulder, feeling him tremble against her. Slid her arms around him, holding him bruisingly close. Slowly, his arms went around her, almost squeezing the air out of her, and she closed her eyes. _Needed._

They sat like that for a long time. B'Elanna didn't care how cold her knees were becoming. Tom, apparently, did. He moved back, reaching for a towel, wetting it in the sink, before washing the blood first off her, then himself.

"Come on. Are you hungry?"

She shook her head mutely, keeping one of his hands in hers as they returned to the couch, sitting together in a comfortable silence.

"I guess I have to go see the Doc tomorrow, huh?"

She gave him a speculative look.

"Yeah," she said finally. "What you replicated can have some interesting effects on you. It's slightly addictive in smaller quantities, I have no idea what the effect will be in the doses you were using."

He nodded.

"He'll tell the Captain." His voice was quiet. She leaned her head against him. "How can you stand to touch me?"

She blinked, lifting her head to stare at him.

"Huh?"

"After what I've done. To you. To the crew. Knowing what you know about me now."

Pure Tom Paris, voice light and conversational. She'd expected that. Gently, she brushed her fingers against his temple.

"How can you stand to touch me, Tom? After what you know about me?"

Blue eyes darted to her, meeting for a moment, then flickering away.

"Don't look away. Not ever, Tom," she said softly. Brown caught blue. "So we're not perfect. I never expected you to be."

He shook his head.

"You didn't sign on for this, B'Elanna."

She smiled then, a baring of teeth that made him smile reluctantly back.

"Sure I did." She took her uniform jacket off, dropping it on the floor. Watched the instinctive dilation of his eyes. "Can you handle that?"

"Handle what?"

"Someone caring about you. Can you handle being forgiven?"

His eyes darkened again. She took his hand in hers, caressing his palm. Knowing now, he needed the contact, needed the her touch, to drive her point home.

"Can you handle someone knowing everything about you and still loving you? Do you think anything about your past could make me walk away? Talk, helmboy. This is long overdue. Tell me everything you didn't talk about during the Inquiry. Tell me what you had to do. What kind of compromises you had to make to get us free." She leaned closer, eyes darker, stroking his jaw with her fingers. Watched as his breath caught at the caress. "Tell me what you did, what you didn't do--then tell me that you would do it again, if that is what you took, because this crew meant more to you than your ghosts. That you did whatever you had to do to get us free."

She smiled again as his eyes widened. He blinked. Fingers tightening on hers briefly.

"Because what you did on this ship has nothing to do with who you were before. That man is dead, gone, the same as the Admiral's son and the disgraced officer and the Federation convict. Gone, for good. You're not the same person, and you don't have to punish yourself for what he did. Not anymore."

He lifted her hand, clasping it between his for a moment, a slight, real smile turning his mouth. He understood. She breathed out.

"Yes, Counselor."

"I liked sweetheart, actually." He chuckled. "But don't let that get around, okay, hotshot?" She squeezed his fingers menacingly, eyebrow arched in a scowl.

"Not baby?"

"No." She slid her fingers up his cheek gently. "Tom, you don't have to be perfect, you know."

"Maybe not." He glance down at their joined hands. "I'll tell the Captain myself. And the Doc."

"I know. You take your responsibility seriously." She turned his head to brush her lips across his cheek, letting her teeth graze the skin lightly. "Can you forgive yourself, Tom? For doing what you had to do, even if you had to get dirty to do it?"

A long look.

"I'll try."

It was a start.

* * *

**1000 hours - Alpha Shift**

Captain Janeway stared out into the stars. Tom, seated on the other side of her desk, had not moved since he had told her what he had been doing.

"Are there withdrawal symptoms?" she asked finally. She still wasn't looking at him.

"Some, Captain." Tom at his laconic best.

She began to pace slowly, and finally turned around, spearing him with a look.

"Two weeks?" She picked up the PADD the Doctor had sent her, giving it a long glance, before dropping it again. "What the Doctor named here is very addictive. And illegal."

His face didn't change, and she hated that.

"It's similar to the stimulant the Doctor gave me," he answered. "The formula is different. But equally illegal."

She didn't bother to check the PADD for confirmation. Tom simply had no reason to lie.

"The Doctor's report says you're malnourished. That you've lost several kilos in weight." She tossed the PADD at him, watched in veiled annoyance as he caught the unannounced throw easily. Hadn't affected his reflexes, apparently. Yet.

"Yes, Captain."

She clenched her teeth, wanting a reaction, something, from him, at least. Something to make her satisfied that he even had emotions. He played it like a Vulcan. She didn't need another Vulcan. She had Tuvok for that.

"What the hell were you thinking, Tom? You had command of a vessel and you became a stim addict."

Blue eyes looked into hers.

"There wasn't much choice. Half a crew, no senior officers, and a mission. Captain."

The way he said the last word made her swing around to face him.

"This isn't the behavior I've come to expect of you, Mr. Paris."

"It shouldn't surprise you, Captain."

He regretted the sarcasm as soon as it left his lips. He'd known she would be angry and disappointed, no big surprise. He tried to control his erratic mood swings, tried to control his tongue. All because he'd dropped that damned hypospray.

Damn. It would have been so much easier if he could have waited for this.

_ Yeah, you certainly sound like an addict. And you've never been this jumpy._ Actually, he could feel himself begin to twitch at the enforced inactivity. A side effect of overuse of stimulants, he felt edgy again, and it took effort to control himself.

Janeway noticed the edge to his voice. She had the Doctor's report to confirm what just looking at him told her. _I didn't even notice. Damn._

Tom's fingers tapped on the chair arm discordantly.

_ That's why I'm angry. I should have seen something._ She took a deep, calming breath, sitting back in her chair. The young man in front of her faced her without flinching, but she could see his fingers move against the arm of the chair, the set, expressionless face, the eyes that gave away nothing.

Never had she been more ashamed of herself, as a Captain and as a friend, for Tom was her friend as well as her subordinate. She'd never looked for it, she admitted it. Perhaps, just perhaps, she hadn't wanted to know. God knew, there were so many problems right now with her crew, and Tom seemed the least visibly affected by what had occurred. He'd been the one to counsel the crew, help them through the adjustment. Half the crew still looked to him for leadership. She had thought...but she'd been wrong.

But stimulants. For two weeks, and in retrospect, she could see the signs. The weight that had seemed to have melted away. He looked older, harder, more distant.

_ The way I looked once, after my first difficult command decision, actually. I've seen that look in the mirror. After it three people were killed under my command. The first time I was truly aware of my own power and what it meant to be a Captain. That I had the ability to send people to die, and they would go willingly because I was Captain._

"I'm relieving you of duty for the next week." He nodded. "Medical leave. This won't go on your record." A bare hint of a smile turned the corner of his mouth. _Yes, well, there are certainly worse things on his record, _ she thought, almost shaking her head. "Dismissed."

He stood up, nodding with a jarring shortness, and went to the door.

"Tom?"

His back stiffened, and he slowly turned around.

"If B'Elanna hadn't found that hypospray, how long would you have continued this?"

He considered the question.

"Too long, Captain."

And he walked out the door.

Captain Janeway knew she wasn't omnipotent. But she expected, at very least, to be able to see if something was wrong with a member of her crew.

_ Well, a lot of the crew is having problems. Most. Maybe all._ That was no excuse. She'd known something was troubling him days before. Yet she had done nothing. Trying to finish her own recovery, to sort out her complicated feelings for Chakotay, her frustration with the fact that the crew just wasn't re-uniting as it should.

She hated to feel that lack of control.

_ We have time to fix that. Years and years of time for everyone to relearn how to trust each other. We can be a united crew again._

She wished she could believe it.

* * *

**2000 hours - Present Time**

Harry had barely made it into his quarters after dinner before his door chimed.

"Come," he said absently, removing his uniform jacket.

The door slid open, and he turned to welcome Sue, with whom he had planned to practice their duet tonight. Music helped, and Sue's company couldn't be discounted either.

But not enough. Not nearly enough.

Instead, it was B'Elanna.

He started, but she didn't give him a chance to become horrified or uncomfortable.

"Do you think we could talk now?" she said. Her set face, the way she shifted from foot to foot, told him how very little she wanted to be here.

He gaped at her.

She didn't wait for an answer, in typical B'Elanna fashion, but took a chair in his living room. Brown eyes turned on him, waiting for him.

"Maybe we shouldn't--" he trailed off uncomfortably. He realized he was retreating to the bedroom and stopped himself.

"Shouldn't what?" Her hands moved restlessly against the arms of the chair, her lap, her knees.

"Does Tom know you're here?" he switched gears. It didn't seem to affect her. One dark eyebrow arched at the question.

"Yes."

Harry drew in a deep breath and slowly sat down.

"I don't need his permission to talk to anyone, Harry." In this case, she wasn't being quite truthful. She didn't need it--but she wanted it. Too much had happened for her to want to risk Tom's trust. Or his increasingly unpredictable moods. The Doctor had warned her. So had Tom.

_ Well, hell, he's babysat my moods for long enough. I suppose this is payback._

It was comforting, and disconcerting, to see her lover snap at things for no good reason. _I've rarely seen him lose his temper. Well, you get to see it now, B'Elanna.  
_

The mental picture of Tom, as she'd left him, popped into her mind. Laying on the couch, with a headache he wouldn't describe except in a look of undiluted dislike, a washcloth covering his eyes. She'd darkened their quarters before she left.

_ When did I start to think of them as our quarters?_

The intriguing thought had to be pressed aside for the time being, but it gave her courage. She forced herself to relax. Waited for Harry to settle himself.

Watching Harry twitch, she spared him some sympathy. But not much. She couldn't.

"What happened between us--" she began, and completely lost the words, if she had even had them to begin with. What the hell do you say in a situation like this? _I hate you. I know it wasn't you, but I can't make that real to myself._ She didn't want to hurt Harry. _Yes I do. Just like I hurt every time I think about it, or I waken from another dream, or I see a certain expression on Tom's face and remember what he had to watch, what we made him watch._

"I'm sorry, B'Elanna." His voice was low, it would have been impossible to hear but the room was eerily silent.

She nodded.

"It's okay, Harry." _Well, what else the hell was I supposed to say there? No, it's not okay, you bastard. This is Harry. He never would have--never would have done that to me._ This was turning out to be a bad idea, she had somehow known it would be, but something in her wanted some kind of resolution, closure. If for no other reason, to make the dreams go away.

Uncomfortable silence. They didn't look at each other.

_ He's my best friend, and Tom's. Am I willing to give that up? Five years of friendship, and we just drop it because of one time, one unwitting betrayal?_

But that betrayal--she felt herself shiver. Somewhere, deep inside, she wanted to scream at Harry what he had done to her. Take his throat between her hands and just squeeze, thrown him against the bulkhead and watch him die, no matter there was no K'eya in him now to make him hurt her, how the hell do you deal with this?_ How did Tom talk to Harry afterward? How did he talk to me?_

"This was a bad idea," she muttered, standing up, moving to the door. To her shock, Harry blocked her.

"No, B'Elanna. There's something--"

"Get out of the way." Her voice was a throaty growl. Surprisingly, he stood his ground.

"B'Elanna--" He seemed desperate now.

"Get the hell out of my way!" Her temper was reacting to her fear--_Why am I afraid of Harry? He'd never hurt me, never.--_ and she pushed against his chest, knocking him off-balance, leaving her clear to the door. She got two steps before he blocked her again.

"Hit me."

She stared at him. Tried to make sense of the words.

"What?"

"Hit me." The brown eyes looked steadily into hers, without flinching. "Hit me, do something, just get it over with." His hands were behind him, as if he could ever be a threat to her, and he lifted his chin, waiting. "I deserve it, B'Elanna."

And it tempted her. Her fingers tingled in anticipation. Not just one hit, but a series, punch after punch after punch, watch his blood stain her fingers. Watch him quiver at her feet because of what he had done to her--done to Tom--

\--her hand lifted, fingers clenching to her palm--

\--she knew she was seconds away from doing just that.

And Harry just stood there, unmoving, ready to take the punishment for something that had never been his fault. Her clenched fist tightened as she tried to think over the maelstrom of feelings. Her harsh breathing echoed in her own ears.

"The K'eya--they were bonded," she said softly, evenly. "What happened, between us, was them. It has nothing to do with us."

Saying the words didn't make her believe them, but it did help cool her. Tuvok would have been proud.

Harry didn't move. The look in his eyes made her ache.

"I shouldn't have come here," she said finally, her voice still even. And it took everything she had ever learned from Tom about control, everything Tuvok had ever told her in her counseling sessions, to stop herself from just hurting him. He was in pain, she could see it in his face.

But not enough. Not the way she was. She wanted to see pain she had caused, that she had inflicted, she wanted visible proof that she had injured him as deeply, as irrevocably, as he had injured her, whether he had wanted to or not.

Just once, she wanted to use her rage to hurt someone other than herself.

But Harry didn't deserve that. The K'eya deserved that. Not the fragile man in front of her, who had done so much to help her, who had been her best friend for so long. He didn't deserve it.

She reached out, and in the bravest moment of her life, she touched his shoulder.

"It'll be okay, Harry. Just--well, time, you know?"

He stared at her blankly, and she saw his mouth trembled. The brown eyes become liquid.

She put her arms around him and embraced him for a brief moment. Refused to give into her fears, to the automatic stiffness of his body.

He returned the embrace, and they moved apart. Looked at each other.

He let her leave.

* * *

B'Elanna let the Holodeck doors shut behind her and studied the brig program. Checking to see if it was what she remembered.

She had found the program after Tom mentioned it in the Inquiry. Those official records had been ordered erased. She had saved them, having no idea why she was doing it, hiding them away so no one else would know.

Hell, she didn't know, then, what possible use they could be, except to hurt Tom. She hadn't wanted to do that, but her fingers and her voice had done the deed, even as she wondered what the hell she wanted them for.

Now she stared around the incredibly well-lit brig program Tom had created. She recognized the cell she'd been held in, but didn't approach it. Instead, she walked around the program, intellectually admiring Tom's work on this--he'd hate to know it, but it was very possibly the very best holodeck program he had ever created.

This wasn't healthy, but she was tired of being healthy. Tired of being so confused, and so angry, and so bitter. She turned on her heel, spinning to face the control panel. She didn't need to, of course, but it was one of those idiosyncrasies she had developed on Voyager. She drew in a deep breath.

"Computer, run holodeck record Paris Delta Seven. Crewman Ricarla."

:::Authorization?:::

"Torres Alpha Alpha Omega One. Proceed."

:::Authorization verified.:::

She watched the figures appear--Tom, Vorik, Ayala, Ricarla, and the biobed that would hold the crewmember while Tom coolly asked the questions that the K'eya didn't know the answers to.

Watched her lover torture the K'eya.

Fascinated by the hypospray dangling from between Tom's long fingers as he waited for Ricarla to answer.

* * *

He couldn't remember having a headache this excruciating in a long time. Tom closed his eyes, laying back on the couch, trying to think calm thoughts. Calm thoughts.

B'Elanna had finally gone to see Harry. He had wondered, vaguely, when she would be able to do that. If she would ever be able to do that. She'd looked very--Klingon--when she left. He wished that he could have gone with her.

To protect her? Or Harry? He'd seen that look before. He crushed a smile and was rewarded with a new spike of pain across the center of his forehead.

He picked up the cool cloth B'Elanna had left for him and put it back over his eyes. The stimulant, or lack thereof, was causing a bout of insomnia, which, in Tom's case, was manifesting itself as a terrible headache. He knew the signs, didn't even want to breathe. Every breath was a new and unexciting experience in intense pain. Hell, even his hair hurt. He kept his head still on the pillow.

B'Elanna had been amused by his sudden temper. As she pointed out, rather dryly, she was usually the one usually likely to throw a fit over nothing and was he trying to take that place in their relationship? In that case, maybe they should "explore" his human heritage more thoroughly, especially the human customs of meditation and denial of luxuries to do penance.

No man could ignore a warning like that. He'd shut his mouth and concentrated on something less stressful--say, piloting through a fleet of Borg cubes. Then she'd sat down with him, giving him that incredible smile that warmed him whenever he saw it, and told him to lay down and relax until dinner. He wasn't hungry. She didn't give a damn. He would eat.

He entertained himself wondering what methods she would resort to if he proved recalcitrant.

After she'd left, he had made the mistake of trying to get up and since then hadn't dared move.

For the first time in--weeks?--no one was at the door needing assistance. No one needed him to mediate, to talk to another crewman, or anything. He suspected it was B'Elanna who had assured his privacy, not a sudden drop in complaints. Or the fact the door was very locked. B'Elanna had done it before she left, with only a half-joking threat of locking him in if he didn't cooperate.

Sue had taken over that duty. He winced at the feel of her name in his head, and drove it out. Bad habits be damned, he didn't feel like handling this, he just couldn't face one more crisis right now.

"Tom? How are you feeling?" Her voice was soft.

He pulled the cloth away from his eyes.

"Fine. I didn't hear the door chime." He sounded short, and knew he did. B'Elanna chuckled softly.

"I'm an engineer. I can disable something as simple as a door chime. So is this how I act when I am in a bad mood, hmmm?" B'Elanna sat down on the edge of the couch, taking his hand in hers. "Is it getting better?"

"I suppose if I said 'now that you are here it's much better', that would be a little much, huh?" She grinned and her fingers gently brushed across his cheek. "The Doc gave me a relaxant, and yes, I took it a little while ago, but no, it's not better. And at least three days of this before I do." He glanced at the chronometer. "You've been gone awhile. Are you okay?" He studied her face in concern. The lights were too low to make out much, but he could see her smile.

An odd look came into her brown eyes. He couldn't interpret it, and he knew he should be able to.

"Much better," she leaned down and brushed her lips across his cheek, laughingly dodging the hand that tried to hold her. "I'm going to go get something to eat from the Messhall. Do you want anything?"

Tom groaned theatrically and B'Elanna grinned her understanding.

"I'll replicate you something when I get back. Just hush and try to get some sleep." She gave him a last long look and then placed the cloth carefully over his eyes. He heard her quietly leave.

* * *

"Are you sure you want to do this, Harry?" B'Elanna wiped sweaty palms dry on her pants. _If Tom knew--_ She tried not to think about that. He wouldn't find out; he didn't need to. This was something she needed to do.

He gave her a long look. His grim expression did not surprise her.

"Will it help?" His voice was harsh in the silence of the dark room.

She drew a deep breath, pulling her chair closer. Looked around the dark, considering her options, and finally sat down. Some ghosts just don't leave. Some you had to fight out. And you had to win.

Because the alternative is unthinkable.

_ One more step toward control of my life. One more demon dead. I can do this._

"Yes."

Harry sat down a short distance from her, and she turned her head to the console. Swallowed in a suddenly dry throat.

"Computer, run holodeck record Paris Delta 7. Crewman Ricarla. Authorization Torres Alpha Alpha Omega One. Proceed."

:::Authorization accepted.:::

_ Some ghosts don't leave. You have to fight them out._ She clenched her hand into a small fist on her thigh.

She was Klingon. She'd never been accused of turning down a good fight. Especially one she would win.

And she would.

They watched the figures shimmer into existence, and B'Elanna, in the silence of the dark room, felt herself smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: drug use, violence


End file.
